


Hero Worship

by DrunkenOracle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Allegory, Anxiety Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Mild Language, timeline inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkenOracle/pseuds/DrunkenOracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alejandra survived the fight between Soldier 76 and Los Muertos only because "old habits die hard." She developed a case of hero worship that day, and it's carried with her in the six years since, coloring her every decision. Now she wants to follow in her hero's footsteps, become something of a hero herself, or at least help the heroes.</p><p>Timeline inaccuracies (almost certainly) because the Overwatch Timeline confuses the hell outta me. I'm doing the best I can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We'll Have to Make a Pact or Something Like That

**Author's Note:**

> Alejandra was the little girl from the Hero short. [ I have a sorta concept sketch for her appearance in this fic here if anybody is interested.](http://drunkenoracle.tumblr.com/post/144779774988/self-indulgent-concept-art-character-reference)

Alejandra tugged her jacket on over her shirt, zipped it up, buckled the belt that ran close to the hem of it, and grabbed her gloves. She inspected her tattoos one more time, reached over and flipped off the ceiling light so the bioluminescent glow was visible, the colors could actually be seen. Her face was a _calavera_ in the dark. There were tattoos down her neck and arms and back and hands, too. She stared at the skeletal hands that decorated the backs of her own for a moment, then pulled her gloves on.

One deep breath then another passed through her lungs and she grabbed her helmet up, wedged it under her right arm, and picked up her bat. She swung the bat around a few times before letting it rest on her shoulder and took one final glance around her room, eyes lingering a moment longer on the Overwatch poster than anything else. Quick, quiet steps carried her across the bedroom and out the window of the second-story room and then she was on the ground and darting to an alley down the street.

She’d gotten better at climbing and running in the years since she’d met Soldier 76. She didn’t falter when she leapt up a fence now, didn’t slip when she climbed to the top of it, landed on her feet when she made it to the other side, and it didn’t slow her down. She kept going, all the way to the edge of town and into another dim-lit alley. Her skin glowed faintly, the bright colors on her face a constant reminder of what she was doing, what she was leaving behind, who and what she was fighting for now. She hesitated for a second, turned back to look in the direction of the _panaderia_ , of her home, then shook her head and looked forward once more.

She wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t go back. She wasn’t Alejandra anymore.

She continued down the alley until she reached something covered in a tarp, and she unceremoniously pulled the tarp away to reveal a motorcycle with the same glowing calavera design painted on it as was painted on her helmet, painted on the back of her jacket, tattooed on her face. She shoved the bat into one of the saddlebags, pulled her helmet on, dug into the pocket of her jeans for the keys, and then she was on the motorcycle and speeding out of city limits.

She didn’t have long. She’d heard that someone was hanging around just outside of Dorado, taking down punks and gang members where they could. A small part of her knew that it was possible it wasn’t Soldier 76 at all, but the rest of her screamed that it had to be him. He was back. It just had to be him, and she needed to find him before he was gone again.

 _Goodbye, Dorado_.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d thought they’d be disorganized, and really, they were, but damn if there weren’t a lot of them. Every time Soldier 76 took down one ill-outfitted punk, another sprung up in his place, and it was getting to be a little tedious. The close quarters was what really did it for him, what frustrated him more than anything. If they’d just left their damn warehouse, he could’ve picked them off one or two at a time, no problem, but no, they hid. They stayed tucked safe and sound inside their warehouse and he was forced to rely on close combat. No telling what was in those barrels, and he couldn’t exactly keep trucking if he died today, too.

These were the thoughts that filled Soldier 76’s head as he rammed the butt of his assault rifle into yet another cocky young asshole’s stomach, throwing him to the ground, and then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of glowing color in the far corner of the warehouse. His memories raced as he ducked under fists and kicked out at knees, swung his assault rifle up into a jaw. There was a gang in Dorado five, no six, years ago… Los Muertos? He thought he’d torn them down, but it wouldn’t be the first time a gang had picked up a mantle he thought he’d buried.

He turned then and caught the sight of the glow once more, and it was moving towards them at a run. He growled and elbowed the punk to his right hard in the face, jammed his rifle into someone else’s gut, tried to swing it up to pick off the blur of glowing color and then she was in the light and he saw her eyes. It wasn’t Los Muertos. It was the scared little girl they’d nearly killed. He hesitated, froze for a split second, and all at once she was on the group, screaming her fury and smashing a baseball bat into someone’s head.

Well, little girl wasn’t scared anymore.

Everything fell back into focus then and he turned on his heel, rifle still midswing up into position, and he had one clear shot before he’d need to return to close combat, one clear shot to take down this punk, but the girl was there first, her bat denting his face. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he supposed, and he twisted his arm just right, jammed the butt of his rifle into the face of the grinning goon that had just arrived at his side.

Somehow the fight went from tedious to nearly-boring with the simple addition of a young woman with a baseball bat. He was able to keep an eye on her while he fought basically on auto-pilot, and to tell the truth? She was holding her own. She ducked fists, rammed her bat upward into peoples’ jaws, swung it hard into their abdomen or right at their face and it always looked like it hurt. The ones she knocked down mostly didn’t get back up, and if they tried she was on them like lightning, like death itself.

He sensed a theme.

 

* * *

 

 

When the last man was down and she couldn’t hear anymore footsteps, she looked up and around, breaths hard and ragged, brow damp with sweat, and her eyes locked onto Soldier 76. It was him. It was really him. Her mouth opened once and no sound came out, so she tried again, and then she laughed weakly. “I really thought I’d have some sort of cool one-liner for this, but apparently not. Maybe that comes with the years of experience.”

Soldier 76 grunted, hefted his assault rifle, and turned to leave.

“No, wait, wait!” She took two steps forward, hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea? But he stopped, and her resolve strengthened. She’d made her choice, now she just needed to follow through. Her mind raced. She had planned out everything she was going to say, but in the rush of adrenaline and rage and combat it had all just sort of slipped away, and all that was left was the core of it. “I want to help.”

“I don’t need help, kid.”

She remembered him being gruff, and she’d tried to prepare herself for this possibility, but it definitely still stung when it happened. She took a deep breath. “Maybe you don’t need it, but… but I do. You might walk away tonight, expecting to leave me here, but I’ve said my goodbyes, made my choice. This is what I’m doing, and I want to do it right.”

He turned around and she couldn’t see behind his mask but she thought he must be scrutinizing her, reading her expression, the determination in her eyes, the slight tremble in her shoulders from the adrenaline that hadn’t quite left her. She fought the urge to look at the ground. Hero worship was a hell of a thing, especially when your hero wasn’t quite personable.

And she waited what felt like an eternity for him to respond.

Ultimately, he grunted again, shrugged, turned away once more. “Fine. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re calling yourself _what_?”

Soldier 76’s question was just audible over the din of the fight they were in, and she had swung her bat hard against one of the men that bore down on her, the crack of it against his skull a satisfying sound.

“I am La Muerte!” she shouted back, and as she did she brought her knee up into another man’s gut and rammed the handle of the bat down over his head when he doubled over.

She didn’t hear it, but she assumed 76 grunted in response as he fired off one shot, two shots, three at the men with AKs on the far end of the building they’d entered. His tactical visor was something else. “Real edgy there, kid,” he finally shot back at her.

La Muerte snorted and her baseball bat met yet another face. “I wasn’t going for edgy, _viejo_. I was going for a fresh beginning.”

“That why your motorcycle is all painted up with sugar skulls and roses?”

There was a break in the close combat, and La Muerte rested her bat against the ground, leaned on it. “I’m still pissed you made me leave it behind.”

“I could have let you go ahead and get yourself killed while you waited on me to catch up,” 76 retorted. He fired short bursts at the men with guns on the far end every time they popped out of cover to try and catch him off guard.

“Oh, would you two shut up already?”

La Muerte whirled around to swing her bat up at the speaker. He ducked; she missed. She didn’t let that stop her, though, and she took two quick steps back before lunging forward once more, bat tight in her grip, and she swung solidly at the center of his mass.

“Go down, fucker,” she snarled, and then she brought the bat down over his head. He didn’t get back up. She straightened up, adjusted her jacket with one hand, and glanced around the room, breaths heavy and ragged. “That all of them?”

Soldier 76 crept forward a couple steps. “Maybe…”

She watched him for a moment, then turned toward the door and made to leave, only to stop short when gunfire hit the ground by her feet, she turned in time to see one last gangster lob something at them before he was caught by burstfire from 76’s rifle. Whatever it was he lobbed landed and rolled and…

Oh. A grenade.

She froze. Training be damned, she froze. She could fight, she could run, she could stare down a gang without flinching, but in that moment she was 15 years old again, staring at her certain death with no chance of escape. The world was muffled, and so were the shouts she knew in the back of her head that she was hearing.

All at once, Soldier 76’s voice broke through, and he had a death grip on her arm. “Damnit, kid, you have to RUN!” He pulled her along behind him, tearing them both out of the building and away to relative safety. Behind them, the windows blew out of the building and fire consumed it, but even then he didn’t stop running, didn’t release his hold on La Muerte’s arm. They kept running.

By the time they stopped, she’d come back to her senses, and she realized that somewhere along the way she’d dropped her bat. She pulled her arm from 76’s grip and looked around, calming herself with deep breaths as she checked their surroundings.

“We can go back for it later, kid,” 76 grunted. “We need to keep moving.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s bunk here.”

La Muerte followed Soldier 76 into the non-descript building and out of the bright light of the full moon, saw the slight halo on the edge of her vision as the bioluminescence in her skin became more visible. She watched 76 fumble for the light switch, flick it up, and realize the lights weren’t working. He turned back toward her and stepped back suddenly, grunted in surprise.

“Fuck, kid. Still not used to you lighting up like that.”

La Muerte just shrugged. “Is there anything we can do to get the lights on again, or am I going to serve as the only light source? I gotta say, I’m not exactly a _great_ light source.”

76 snorted. “You’re visible, I’ll give you that much. There should be a generator downstairs. Stay here.”

La Muerte watched him go, assuming that his mask had some sort of night-vision tech in it. She kicked one foot against the ground and turned back toward the door, pulled it shut, locked it. No sense leaving things wide open. She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets, shed her jacket and let it fall to the floor. She couldn’t see in the dark, but she could find her way around if she went slowly and kept an eye out for anything reflecting her tattoos back at her. She found a line of lockers on the wall to her right, benches ahead of her, and to her left a little she found a doorway out into the rest of what she assumed was a safehouse.

She ignored the doorway, continued left, and held her hand up to the wall. The faint blue glow of her arm illuminated news clippings, pictures, certificates, and keys to more than one city. Her mouth dropped open just slightly, and she pressed it shut tight again and inspected the news clipping. They were old…

“Angela Zeigler… Gabriel Reyes…” She murmured the names, shook her head, stared at the pictures in the news clippings. This was Overwatch… the building, the news clippings, all of it. Pieces were starting to click together in her head. She stepped back from the wall and went back to the doorway, stepped through it just in time for the lights to kick on. Her eyes snapped shut and she winced. After a few seconds she opened her eyes again and the lights still stung but they weren’t blinding.

Footsteps across the room brought her attention to Soldier 76’s return. “I thought I told you to stay there?”

“Oh, no, I moved five feet, whatever will you do.” Her lips quirked up into a smile and one hand settled onto her hip.

If Soldier 76’s eyes were visible beyond his mask, La Muerte would have seen him roll them. He just grunted and turned away, walked into a different room. He didn’t close the door behind him. La Muerte’s smile fell, but when she heard cabinets opening she moved toward the room to find that it was a kitchen. She watched 76 curiously as he searched the cabinets until he apparently found what he was looking for: non-perishables.

“Mac and cheese?” she asked, one eyebrow arching, her lip curling in distaste.

“Not much else here, kid.” He shoved the box toward the stove and kept shuffling through the cabinet. Finally he produced a can of peas and a can of vienna sausages. “You used to gourmet or something?”

“My family runs a _panaderia_. I’m used to home cooking and fresh bread.”

76 turned to face her. “None of that here, kid. We’re lucky there’s still anything here that isn’t expired already.”

La Muerte nodded her head to one side and leaned against the doorframe. “I suppose that’s fair. So… what’s the plan here?”

He shook his head and turned away again, crouched in front of the stove and pulled a saucepan out of the storage beneath it. “The plan…” he started, straightening up as he spoke. “The plan is to lay low tonight, get your bike and bat tomorrow morning, and send you home.”

“Send me home?” she repeated, her voice sharp. “Like hell. You saw what I can do in a fight. I’m not going home.”

76 set the saucepan down on a burner hard, and turned on her again. “I saw what you can do in a fight against some street-level thugs, and, yes, you’re skilled. You can hold your own against them. That’s not an indicator of whether or not you can keep a cool head and take down someone like… like Widowmaker, or Reaper...” His voice cracked on the last name and he grunted, turned back to the stove. “...and I don’t hold high hopes for you after you froze up because of a grenade. You’re going home tomorrow.”

La Muerte’s eyes narrowed and she scrutinized Soldier 76 as though she could glean the inner workings of his mind from staring at the back of his head. “This isn’t about me; I can get over the grenade thing, and you know it. This is about you. You aren’t sending me home because you’re worried I can’t handle this. You’re sending me home because of some fucked up sense of justice. Some misplaced idea that you have to fix the world on your own. That’s why you won’t step up to help Tracer or Reinhardt or Zarya or any of them directly.”

Soldier 76 froze. He said nothing.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You think you have to do it all yourself.” Her nostrils flared as she breathed deep and continued, ready to put her theory to the test. “You’re Jack Morrison, aren’t you?”

76 tensed. “And what gave you that idea?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t figure out where we are? This is an Overwatch safehouse. A Watchpoint or whatever.”

“I couldn’t just be a footsoldier? Some nobody who was in Overwatch before it was shut down?”

La Muerte shook her head. “You don’t carry yourself like a nobody, and you don’t fight like a nobody. You carry yourself like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you fight like Jack Morrison. I’ve seen the videos.”

“And if I am Jack Morrison? What do you do with that information then?”

“Nothing. What good is that information to me? I mean, I guess I could wave a flag all ‘look, everyone, I found Jack Morrison, he isn’t dead!’ But… nobody’s going to believe me. To the world, Jack Morrison died when the Overwatch Headquarters blew up.” She frowned. “...Does Jack Morrison think Jack Morrison died?”

Soldier 76 turned on the stove, took the saucepan to the sink and filled it, returned to the stove and replaced the saucepan. He stayed silent for some moments after before finally turning toward La Muerte again. “Jack Morrison definitely died in that explosion. Some of his… influence still lingers.”

La Muerte just nodded. “I guess I can see that, but… Maybe more of Jack Morrison’s influence lingers than you seem to think, Soldier 76.” She pushed off the doorway and backed away out of the kitchen, turned and left to explore the Watchpoint.

 

* * *

 

 

Mornings were always rough for Alejandra, for La Muerte, and she woke slowly, as if she wasn’t sure she really wanted to be conscious of life or light or the air she was breathing. She drifted in and out of semi-sleep for a few minutes before finally she pulled herself up to sitting, half awake, cropped hair a disheveled mess. She wiped idly at the numb warm feeling of her cheek and blinked several times, trying to adjust to being awake.

She heard muffled voices and for a moment she dismissed them. It was just _mamá_ and some customers, surely. They were buying _pan_ for the day, or maybe a _pastel_ for their kid’s birthday party. She lazily flopped back down onto the pillow and closed her eyes, only to open them a split second later. No. She wasn’t at home. Those voices were not coming from the _panaderia_ downstairs. She was at a Watchpoint and those voices were coming from down the hall and they _definitely_ did not belong to Soldier 76.

She threw herself out of bed and paced quietly, trying to think, before she spotted her jacket folded up on the chair by the door, her bat leaning against the wall beside it. When had those gotten there? She shook her head. No, no time for that. Who was in the Watchpoint with her? Were they the last remnants of the gang she and Soldier 76 had torn apart last night?

...Were they Overwatch?


	2. A Little Trouble in Your Neighborhood

“ _Mierda_ ,” Alejandra spat, and she grabbed her socks up out of her boots, sat down, pulled them on as quick as she could. Her boots went on after and she zipped them up over her jeans, grabbed her jacket and bat, and cautiously, carefully, silently opened the door. The voices were no longer muffled. There were two, maybe? Yeah, two.

“Maybe they’ve already left? Just popped in and out?” The first voice tickled on familiarity, but only barely. Alejandra, ultimately, couldn’t place it.

“Why would they just leave a bike with a full tank?” And _that_ was distinctly Tracer; Alejandra would recognize that voice anywhere. “They’re here somewhere, whoever they are.”

A soft sigh passed through Alejandra’s lips, and she gripped her jacket and bat just a little tighter. There was no way they were going to leave without checking every room, there was no way she could hide from them, and there was no way she could sneak past them. It just wasn’t going to happen. Finally, decisively, she stepped out of the room and walked up the hall to the main area of the Watchpoint, bat held tight but low, where she wouldn’t risk looking as though she were hostile.

Tracer’s back was turned, but the other person, a young man with dreads and some very fancy cybernetic leg armor - or maybe those _were_ his legs? - watched her. He elbowed Tracer gently and she turned to look at Alejandra. “I think I found her.” Then he stepped forward, smiled warmly, held out his hand. “I’m Lúcio.”

Alejandra eyed him carefully, shifted her jacket into her left hand with her bat, and shook Lúcio’s hand without hesitating. “La Muerte. ...You’re that DJ from Rio de Janeiro, right? The one that pushed out Vishkar?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Lúcio laughed.

Tracer moved toward her, then, smiling as bright as she ever had, offered her hand. “And I’m-”

“-Tracer.” Alejandra took Tracer’s hand, shook it once, firm, and then her arm dropped back to her side. “I don’t know that there’s a soul alive that doesn’t know you.”

“Well, cheers then, love.” Tracer wasn’t phased. She was every bit as cheerful as she seemed in the videos. “Are you the only one here?”

Alejandra nodded without really thinking about it. “It’s just me, yeah. I, uh. I probably shouldn’t have just let myself in, but it wasn’t locked, and it was already almost light out.”

“And you figured we wouldn’t mind? Seeing as Overwatch is technically, officially, disbanded?” Tracer watched her closely, examining her face.

She hesitated. “Something like that.”

Tracer shrugged, nodded her head to one side. “I mean, I can’t blame you.”

Lúcio looked over at Tracer, and then back to Alejandra, propped his hands on his hips. “You were responsible for that blown-out warehouse then?”

Alejandra’s mouth fell open and then she closed it again, nodded. “That was me. They.... No idea what was stored in the warehouse, but it went up when they threw a grenade. I barely got out.”

“Uh huh…” Lúcio looked thoughtful for a moment, bobbed his head. “So are you from around here, or…?”

She looked at the ground, then back up at Lúcio and her free hand went to rub at the back of her head. “Dorado.”

“Got people there you wanna see kept safe?”

“I do, yeah.” Alejandra smiled then, finally. “They deserve a safer world. _I_ deserve a safer world. They can’t… they can’t just up and leave, but I can. So I did.”

Tracer’s face turned from scrutiny to a smile and she moved closer to Alejandra, set a hand on her shoulder. “That’s good. The world could use more heroes.”

Lúcio seemed to examine Alejandra. “Are you gonna go back?”

“No. Not anytime soon, hopefully. Not unless they need me, and… I hope they don’t need me. I hope it stays safe enough there they don’t.” Alejandra was still smiling as she leaned her bat against the wall and pulled her jacket on. “I should go. Thanks for… not throwing me in hero jail or something for crashing here.” She made to walk past them to the front door and stopped just short of walking into what appeared to be a floating Omnic. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.”

“Greetings,” the Omnic hummed.

Or it seemed to Alejandra to be humming. Could Omnics hum? She supposed they must be able to. They had voices after all, and beyond that, machines hummed. This Omnic was definitely humming.

“I am Zenyatta.”

“Oh,” Alejandra repeated, feeling a little dumb. “You’re one of the Omnics that determined you have a soul and went to become one with everything, aren’t you?”

“I am, indeed.”

“...Did you? Become one with everything, I mean?”

Zenyatta hummed thoughtfully, and he seemed for all the world to be regarding her carefully. “Not yet, but I believe I am on the right track.”

Alejandra smiled again. “I’m glad for you, then. If only more people would strive for such a goal.”

“And what is _your_ goal?”

Her smile fell, and she carefully considered Zenyatta’s question. After a moment, she spoke. “Right now, my goal is to make Dorado, to make Mexico, a safer place.”

“Safer for whom?”

Oh, but Zenyatta was all about introspection and deep thinking, wasn’t he? She weighed her words for another moment. “Safer for all of the people who are just trying to live their lives, who just want to wake up in the morning, make _pan_ , sell _pasteles_ , talk to their neighbors, and go to sleep at night secure in the knowledge they will be able to do it all again tomorrow.”

Zenyatta hummed thoughtfully. Again. He seemed to do a lot of that. “A worthy goal, but what does it do for _you_?”

She stared at him, at a loss for words. She felt that conversation with Zenyatta would do this to her a lot. “I, uh… I don’t know yet,” she finally said, shook her head slightly. “But I’m sure I’ll find that out as I go along.”

“Then at least you can be glad to know that you are protecting those who cannot protect themselves while you find yourself, Miss…”

“Alejan-” She stopped suddenly, caught herself slipping up. “La Muerte,” she hastily corrected herself. “I am La Muerte.”

“The Mexican interpretation of death, I assume. A new beginning, a remembrance, a continuation.” Zenyatta had heard her mistake, Tracer and Lúcio undoubtedly had too, but he was apparently going to pretend he hadn’t.

“That’s it exactly.” She smiled, nodded, side-stepped Zenyatta and started to the door again. “I really should get going now.”

“Blessings upon you.”

She walked slowly, listening closely as she went, her mind racing with questions, not least of which was “what the hell brought them to Mexico?”

“Right, battle plan time.” Lúcio wasn’t particularly quiet when he spoke, and that definitely helped.

“Right, of course. Back on task,” Tracer said. “What Winston sent me made it sound like there’s Talon movement in this area, so we should-”

That was the last of it before the front door slid shut. Alejandra scowled. What the fuck did Talon want in Mexico? A sigh passed her lips and she shook the thought away. With no information, there was nothing she could do about it except turn around, walk back in, and ask to help, and… well it might go well, or it might not. She suspected not, and her case of hero worship? Yeah, it was still as strong as it had ever been, and it was urging her to find Soldier 76 again, if she could.

She left the Watchpoint door and found her bike sitting off to the left, her helmet hanging off one handlebar. She checked the bike over and found nothing missing, nothing different, nothing in less than pristine condition, and sighed. She’d really been hoping for a note or something, but, no, Soldier 76 was probably hoping she would give up on all this hero business.

She wasn’t going to.

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps thirty miles west of the Watchpoint, Alejandra pulled off the road and cut the engine behind a billboard so she could stay out of the sun. In a fluid motion, she slipped off the bike and pulled off her helmet, let it rest on the handlebar. She stretched her arms up and then out and then she turned to the bike and dug into a saddlebag.

“I was wondering when you were going to stop.”

Alejandra dropped the package she had pulled out of her saddle bag and grabbed up her bat, spun around toward the voice, primed and ready to launch herself forward. She relaxed when she realized it was Soldier 76. “Don’t scare me like that, _viejo_. Where were you?”

Soldier 76 grunted and shrugged. He seemed to do a lot of that. “Staying away from the Watchpoint.”

“Oh, gee, because I hadn’t already figured that one out.” She huffed and shoved her bat back into her saddlebag, picked up the package she’d dropped and unwrapped it to reveal three _marranitos_ , each still whole, by some small miracle. A soft smile spread across her face and she held the package out to 76. “Here, have one.” She couldn’t read his face behind the mask, and she wasn’t sure if he’d accept. She certainly hadn’t seen him take the mask off at the Watchpoint, and she wasn’t sure he would even for a sweet, but… well, might as well offer, right?

“You make these?”

“My _mamá_ taught me how a long time ago. I brought _conchas y pan y empanadas, tambien_. They won’t last long, but… well, they’re good anyway. Take one.”

Finally, 76 relented and grabbed a pastry. “This why you were upset at me for making you leave your bike behind?”

Alejandra just nodded as she wrapped the _marranitos_ back up and tucked them into her saddlebag again. She settled herself carefully onto the ground, back against the billboard, and broke a piece off the _marranito_ , savored it as she ate it. “It was weird, not waking up and rushing to help make _churros_ or _pan_. Kind of tough to be away from it.”

“You’re the one who made the choice, kid.” Soldier 76 turned the marranito over in his hand, examined it, before finally he pulled his mask off. “If you want to turn back, go home, just keep an eye on Dorado, you can. Nobody’s going to stop you.”

She broke another piece off her _marranito_ , looked up to 76. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to see beneath his mask, but ultimately he still looked like Jack Morrison, just… tired. “I’m going to stop me. I can do more than that. If I can do more than that, I _should_ do more than that.”

76 grunted again. “Pretty noble ideals there, kid.”

They fell into a comfortable, thoughtful silence as they ate, and Alejandra brushed the crumbs off her lap before she stood up again. “So. I heard something before I left the Watchpoint.” She listened for 76 to grunt in response, but he never did, and she looked over to see him watching her. “I don’t think they knew I could hear… but Tracer said something about Talon being in the area.”

“Talon? You’re sure?”

“I heard it loud and clear. Talon. No other name it could have been.”

76 grunted and pulled his mask back on. “That's not good, but I have an idea where they'll head first. We need to go back to Dorado.”

Alejandra’s heart stopped. “I told you, I'm not going back home!”

“Calm down, kid-”

“I will not! This is my decision to make. You don't get to just send me back home.”

He growled. “That's not what I'm doing! Listen to me.” He didn’t continue until Alejandra fell silent, though she still leveled him with an icy glare. “Talon is a terrorist organization, you know that as well as I do. What do you have in Dorado that a terrorist organization might want?”

Alejandra’s expression softened, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “LumériCo.” Her voice was hushed. “They want to hit LumériCo.”

“Bingo.”

“ _Mierda_.” She scowled and pushed away from the billboard and back toward her bike, grabbed her helmet up off the handlebars. “We need to go back to Dorado.” Unceremoniously, she shoved her helmet back on her head, double checked that everything was secure in her saddlebags, and climbed back onto her bike, started the engine. “If we leave now, we’ll make it back to Dorado by sunset. Coming, _viejo_?”

 

* * *

 

 

The tarp was still there where Alejandra had left it in the alley at the edge of town, and she pulled it back up over her bike carefully before pulling off her helmet and slipping it under as well. One hand tight on her bat, she wiped beads of sweat off her forehead and stared around the alley. “Didn’t think I’d be back here so soon. Didn’t want to be.”

“I know, kid. You wanted to leave Dorado a safe place, but nowhere stays safe for long.”

She just nodded sadly, sparing Soldier 76 only a short glance, before she started through town, guiding him on the winding path toward LumériCo. The feeling of adobe walls at her fingers reassured her as she moved down the path. It didn’t matter what Talon was doing, what they wanted, she would stop them. She would keep Dorado safe. Her _mamá_ would wake up tomorrow safe and sound, go through her day, and go to sleep knowing she could do it all again the next day.

Alejandra stopped short when she saw graffiti on a wall in the next alleyway. Even though she could still see just the edge of it, it tickled on familiarity. She inched forward slowly, until it came into view fully, and she bristled. “Los Muertos…”

“They never really gave up, did they?” 76 loomed over her shoulder.

“Apparently not. That’s fresh. It wasn’t here when I left.” She shrugged away from the wall and continued on her path. “The timing is… this can’t be a coincidence. They’re working for Talon.” She rolled her eyes when 76 grunted in response. He did a lot of that. It was kind of annoying. _Never meet your heroes, kids_ , she thought. _They’re probably a jerk who doesn’t actually talk_.

It was probably half an hour before they reached LumériCo, and everything was silent. The building let off a faint light, its own way of showing that the efficient power plant was running in peak condition, that Dorado’s power was still on. She didn’t see movement anywhere, but she looked back to Soldier 76 anyway. He was the one with the fancy tech on his face, after all.

He shook his head, and they silently made the trip to walk the perimeter of the building. Nothing. There was nothing. The night had slowly grown darker, and it had to be midnight by then, but there was nothing. Alejandra scowled. “Are we wrong?”

Soldier 76 didn’t respond. Finally, he started down an alley. “If Los Muertos are active again, if they’re working for Talon now, they might be in their old haunts, getting ready.”

Silently, Alejandra followed him, gripping her bat tighter than before as they wound through Dorado’s streets and alleys. She remembered where they were going and her heart pounded in her chest, her shoulders trembled. There was a lump in her throat she hadn’t noticed forming; she swallowed it and forced herself to take deep, even breaths. She could do this. She could help Soldier 76 drive out Los Muertos again. She could help him face down any Talon operatives that showed up. She could do it.

As they drew closer to the abandoned building Los Muertos had used for their base of operations so many years ago, Alejandra heard… something. Soldier 76 stopped dead in his tracks in front of her, and when she drew up beside him she picked out distinct sounds again. There was already a fight going on, peppered here and there with music and noises that Alejandra couldn’t place. “What is that?” she asked, voice low.

“Tracer. That’s what it sounds like when she jumps around time.” He pulled a couple yellow cartridges out of the band that held them to his arm and passed them to Alejandra. “You might need these. Biotic fields. Just press the button on the top and drop them on the ground.”

“Oh.” She turned them over a few times before tucking one into each pocket of her jacket. “So what’s the plan?”

“I’m not making a plan, kid. I can’t account for Tracer’s friends, and I don’t know what Los Muertos have on them.” He slung his rifle off his back and pulled it up to the ready. “You’re gonna get in there, though.”

“So you aren’t going in.” She watched him, inspected his face as though she could read his expression through his mask.

76 grunted. “Tracer was still new to Overwatch when it shut down, but we worked closely for that time. If you can figure out who I am just from watching old videos, kid…”

“...Tracer can put the pieces together, too.” Alejandra pursed her lips. “Can’t have that, can we.”

“You don’t know what a bad thing it would be.”

She sighed and looked back to the building. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just a kid. I can’t understand. Fine, _viejo_ , have it your way. I have to save my home.” She spared one more glance back at 76. “If anybody gets past me…”

“I’ll be out here.”

“And then you’ll be gone again, because you can’t risk being seen.”

They stood still and silent for a moment, and then 76 reached out and ruffled her hair. “I’ll find you tomorrow, kid.”

Alejandra shrugged, turned back to the building, eyed the open door. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and then she darted forward, through the open door, and into the fray. She scrambled over boxes and around shelves, until finally she was all but on top of the fighting, crouched behind a crate. She peeked over it to assess the battle only to duck once more as something came flying over her head. She heard the sound of hard-light skates on concrete and looked back to see Lúcio slide in beside her and reload his weapon. He grinned at her.

“Well, hey, there, Alej. Welcome to the party.”

“Gee, thanks.” She scrutinized him, hissed her next words. “And it’s La Muerte.”


	3. Or Understanding That You're Understood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that this fic has a [theme song?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUPD3-1bVA8)

Alej staggered forward, gripped her bat tight, thrust it into the stomach of the man in front of her, and watched him crumple. She could feel bruises flowering on her ribs with every ragged, rough breath, but she kept going, kept moving. A satisfying crack sounded when her bat met with someone’s head and she dodged down and sideways when she saw a fist coming for her. One quick motion brought her bat to the back of her assailant’s knees and he went down, too.

Then she heard it, beeping, and she saw a shiny silver cylinder sail through the air towards them.

 _Why is it always grenades?_ she thought, and her heart skipped a beat but it kept going. She didn’t freeze this time. The world didn’t slow to a stop this time.

No, instead she grabbed Zenyatta’s arm with her free hand and dragged him away with her as quick as she could move, compensated for how slow he hovered along, pulled them around behind cover and crouched down, safe from the detonation. She heard the tell-tale sound of Tracer zipping back into the fray afterward, but she didn’t try to get up. The fight was as good as over. Maybe Los Muertos would stay down for good this time.

 

* * *

 

 

Mornings were still rough for Alejandra, and they’d gotten rougher since her mornings started happening in the early afternoon. Apparently, most major criminal activity happened late in the evening or overnight. Who knew?

Alej managed, after some minutes of arguing with herself, to sit up and open her eyes and look around what was ostensibly _her_ room at the Watchpoint. It’d been a couple of months since she’d first stayed there, and it still didn’t feel like home, but the few times she’d snuck back into her bedroom at the _panaderia_ , that didn’t feel like home anymore either. What felt like home was the way she gripped her bat, the roar of her motorcycle as she rode down the highway, the feeling of her leather jacket heavy on her shoulders.

She shook her head, rubbed at her eyes, dragged herself out of bed and dressed. Dorado had been quiet for a while. A few minor gangs had tried to make themselves something bigger than they were in the aftermath of the fight with Los Muertos, but there’d been nothing for more than a week. It was… boring, to be perfectly honest.

She reached for her jacket where it was draped over the back of a chair and a note fell from where it had apparently been precariously balanced.

“Oh, right.” Alej had nearly forgotten about the letter she’d found slid under the front door of the Watchpoint last night. With a quick, deft movement, she grabbed the note up and unfolded it one-handed, read through it again. Soldier 76 wanted to meet at the billboard west of the Watchpoint. “Whatever, _viejo_ ,” Alej murmured, but she folded the note up and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

Jacket in hand, Alej ventured out of her bedroom and toward the kitchen, stopped short when she reached the door. She gently nudged the cat that had taken up residence in the doorway with one foot and he looked up at her, offended.

“ _Con permiso, gordito. Necesito comer._ ” She smiled down at the cat and laughed softly as he lifted himself up and leapt onto the table in the kitchen. She mused on his presence as she draped her jacket over a chair, dug into a cupboard, and pulled out day old _pan_. The cat had let himself into the Watchpoint some weeks ago and he’d been a standard presence ever since. Alej had tried to shoo him out, really she had. Honestly.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t tried that hard. She turned around, leaned back against the counter, and tore pieces off the small loaf of _pan_ to eat them. The cat sat precisely in the center of the table and stared up at her, unblinking.

“ _Qué quieres, gordito?_ ” She tilted her head as she watched him, continued eating the small pieces of pan she tore, then she gestured to a pink bowl on the counter beside her. “ _Ya tienes comida, gordito. Ya tienes agua, también._ ” She finished her _pan_ and pushed away from the counter, reached toward the cat. “ _Qué quieres?_ ”

Just before her fingers met with the top of the cat’s head, she heard the front door of the Watchpoint close. She stepped around the table and left the kitchen, heard the pad of cat paws as he followed her out, and she was only mildly surprised to see an archer and a cowboy in the main room of the Watchpoint. She remembered the cowboy from the news reports years ago… McCree was his name, she thought.

The two looked like they’d been having some sort of non-verbal conversation, and they both suddenly noticed her as she scrutinized them. They straightened up and while the archer’s face remained neutral, McCree put on something of a smile and stepped forward.

“Well, hey there, little lady. You must be Alejandra.” He offered his right hand.

Alej pursed her lips and eyed McCree’s hand before she shook it once, firm, and met his eyes again. “And you’re McCree. Welcome to Dorado. Wasn’t expecting anybody today.”

“Ah, yeah. We were on our way back into the States, thought we’d pass through. Sorry for droppin’ in all unexpected.”

She shrugged, put a smile back on her face, pushed back her newfound natural suspicion as much as she could. “Surprises aside, it’ll be nice to have other voices in this building again.” With that, she turned to the archer. “And you are?”

“Hanzo.” He just bowed his head slightly, made no motion to offer a handshake, still showed no emotion.

McCree shrugged. “Don’t mind him, he’s just kinda… reserved.”

“I won’t fault him for that.” She nodded to Hanzo, finally, and turned back toward the hall that led to the kitchen, knelt and scooped up the cat as she went. “Are you just stopping for lunch, or were you planning to stay the night and make it back into the States early tomorrow?”

“Haven’t rightly decided yet,” McCree said, and he followed just behind Alej as she trekked back to the kitchen. “Figure we’ll play it by ear.”

When Alej reached the kitchen again, she deposited the cat on the table and grabbed her jacket back up from the chair where she’d left it, turned back to see that Hanzo had followed them as well. He moved more quietly than Alej would have liked. “Well, make yourselves at home, then. I have an errand to run.” She stepped around them and left the kitchen, heard the two men muttering to each other as she walked down the hall, but when she heard the cat’s low growl she stopped in her tracks.

“Now, I don’t think this here cat likes me, Hanzo.”

Alej stifled a laugh and continued on her way out of the Watchpoint.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was still unpleasantly high in the sky when Alejandra pulled off the road to stop behind the billboard that was their arranged meeting place. She made short work of tearing off her helmet and jacket and left them draped over the handlebars as she dug a bottle of still-blissfully-cool water out of one saddlebag and guzzled it. After she re-capped the bottle and stuffed it back in the saddlebag, she looked around. Soldier 76 wasn’t there.

“Oh, now, come on, _viejo_ ,” she grumbled. “You can’t just call me out here and then not show up yourself.” With a sharp sigh she leaned back hard against the billboard and rubbed at her eyes, wondered how long she could stand to wait out in the heat on the side of a highway that saw little enough use that the billboard she leaned against had been peeling and cracked for years.

She crossed her arms and stared down at the faint lines of her tattoos, thought back to the first time she’d stopped at this billboard, the angry conversation she’d had with Soldier 76 when she thought he was trying to send her home. It’d only been a couple months, but it felt like a lifetime ago, and she felt her face stretch with a smile. Apparently she’d proven she could handle herself just fine, or maybe she’d shouted some sense into him that day, but he hadn’t tried to convince her to step back since then.

Now she just need the opportunity to… go be a hero out in the world at large. Dorado was important to her, and it would always be home, but she really wanted to help everywhere else, too. There were more places than just Dorado being targeted by Talon, more people than just hers, and she was quickly realizing that her vague sense of wanting to help was a strong desire to help _everyone_.

She could almost hear Zenyatta asking her what she got out of it, and she honestly still wasn’t sure, but the satisfaction of knowing that she had made the world safer for even one person was good enough for her. Growth would come with that, certainly; life was a learning experience, after all.

Her mental wanderings trailed off and she looked around her again, wondering where in the world Soldier 76 was. Had something happened to him?

The thought sobered her and pushed her away from the billboard and back up onto her feet properly, and she grabbed her bat up out of one saddlebag before heading further away from the road. She didn’t figure she’d be lucky enough to see any visible sign of… well anything, really, but she hoped she’d find something… or nothing. 76 just up and leaving would be better than him dying in a ditch somewhere.

She fought to control her ragged breaths and racing heart, and as she continued wandering north away from where she’d stopped she began to hear… something. Gunshots? She couldn’t pick them out for sure from such a distance, but they spurred her into a run, filled her with determination to find out what in the world was happening.

The closer she got, the clearer the sounds became, and she fought with herself as she ran, not wanting to admit that she could clearly hear the sound of a pulse rifle. When she heard helix rockets, she managed, somehow, to sprint through the overbearing heat toward the sounds of combat.

Finally, the fight came into view, and she stopped short when she saw Soldier 76 stagger slightly as he continued firing at a mass of moving shadow… Reaper. That was Reaper. Alejandra’s breath caught in her throat and she threw herself forward again, but too late. Reaper rematerialized, brought one shotgun down over the crown of 76’s head, and 76 fell to the ground.

“No!” Alej snarled, and she brought her free hand up to pull one canister off her belt, press the button on the top of it, and throw it with no small amount of force directly between 76 and Reaper.

Reaper took one, two, three steps back, and his head snapped toward Alejandra as she ran in, bat now gripped tight in two hands. She locked her gaze to his, bit back the dread she felt at the sight of his barn owl mask, and she didn’t move her line of sight back toward 76 until bright blue smoke billowed out of the canister she had tossed and blocked her view of Reaper.

He had chosen death as his visage, just as she had, but he chose an ill omen, not a fresh start. Something about that didn’t sit right with her, and she fought back a queasiness in her stomach that urged her to stop, to fall to her knees. She made it to 76’s side finally, and she scrambled for the biotic field canister that should have been at her waist, but… oh. She’d left her jacket with her bike. “Stupid, stupid…” she growled, but she didn’t stop moving. She grabbed up one of 76’s instead and activated it between the two of them, rose back to her feet to look around.

She could see nothing past the bright blue smoke, but she heard… something. Was that what Reaper sounded like when he moved like a ghost? That strange rushing noise filled the air around her and suddenly all she could see everywhere she turned was that damned barn owl mask. She gripped her bat tighter and for a moment she wasn’t sure if what she heard was Reaper moving or her own blood coursing through her veins.

Her head swam and she opened her mouth and forced words out but she couldn’t hear her own voice, wasn’t sure if the words she thought she was saying were the words she was actually saying, wasn’t sure if she was talking or screaming or if maybe she just wasn’t making any noise at all.

And then everything went still.

She was standing over Soldier 76, bat held high ready to swing it out, ready to activate the sonic boost with which it had been outfitted, and she was staring Reaper in the mask. Neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity. Her throat was hoarse and her eyes stung and her blood boiled.

“ _Ve te. Ahora._ ” She snarled the words and she knew her voice cracked on them, like they were so much broken glass caught in her mouth, scratching down her throat.

Reaper made no move, didn’t lift a shotgun, didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to even breathe. He just lingered there, assumedly staring at her.

She shifted the bat in her grasp, held it white-knuckle tight, narrowed her eyes to glare icy daggers at the ghost of a man in front of her. “I said go! Dorado’s mine.”

Finally, Reaper took one step back and then another before he seemed to turn to smoke again and he whisped away through the cloud of blue that still lingered in the area.

Alejandra just stood there, rooted to her spot, arms still high and tense, fingers hurting from how tight they held her bat. She didn’t crumple to her knees until she finally heard 76 take a deep, if shuddering, breath and try to cough up his lung. Her eyes stung and she realized, then, that she’d been crying. For how long, she had no idea. That hadn’t even been a damn fight, it was just… terror. Dread. Fear. And apparently screaming. Her throat felt like it was on fire.

She heard the sound of 76 pulling his mask off and after a few more moments of just breathing, just calming her pulse, she looked over to see him watching her. He had managed, at some point to sit up, and she forced a smile at him, knew it didn’t show in her eyes.

He grunted softly, more a snort than anything, and reached over, ruffled her hair. “You did good, kid.”

The smile reached her eyes then, and she stifled a broken laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra pushed herself through the front door of the Watchpoint and then on into the main area of the building, dropped her jacket and helmet at her feet and shuffled over to collapse into an armchair. The cat came running out from the kitchen to bound into her lap and she smiled softly at him, still astounded by the way he could move when he was so rotund.

“Did you miss me, _gordito_?” she muttered, scratching under his chin and behind his ear. She rolled her eyes when she heard footsteps echo down the hall from the kitchen, confirming her suspicion that her guests were still there. When she looked up they were moving urgently, their faces serious, and concern crept onto her own. “ _Qué tal?_ ”

Neither Hanzo nor McCree answered in words, but Hanzo held out what looked to be the front page of the local newspaper. Crumbs still clung to it from when she’d last pilfered _pan_  from her parents’ _panaderia_. She held it tight, cocked an eyebrow, scrutinized both men that stood before her, and finally looked down at the newspaper.

Staring back at her was the back of her jacket.

“Oh,” she said, a little dumbfounded.

“There’s more.” Hanzo handed over the front page of a more recent edition. “You’ve inspired the people of Dorado.”

She skimmed the article, still dumbfounded, read about how a group of citizens were planning to patrol the streets at night. They would be unarmed, but they were sure they would find safety and security in numbers. When she finished, she looked up at McCree and Hanzo again. “Oh,” she repeated.

It took a few moments for everything to sink in, but when it did, when she realized Dorado had not only _been_ quiet but would _remain_ quiet, she pulled the cat from her lap up into her arms and rose from her seat, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Oh!” This time she wasn’t dumbfounded. No, this time everything had clicked into place and she was overjoyed.

McCree broke out into a grin, and even Hanzo managed a small smile.

She sat back down, ignoring the cat’s protests against being held for so long, and just stared at the paper in her hand. “This means…” The words fell out of her mouth slowly, and they trailed off before she could complete the sentence, but she felt it deep in her soul. This meant she didn’t need to stay in Dorado. This meant she could go where she was needed. “Wow.”

“Welcome to the fight, little lady.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra sat with her back to the billboard, a package with two _marranitos_ in her hands and a note from her _mamá_. She’d intended to sneak in and steal some sweets, but she found her _mamá_ there asleep at the counter. Apparently she’d tried to wait up. Alejandra ended up sneaking upstairs to bring a blanket down and she took the _marranitos_ and the note that her _mamá_ had made up for her. The papers called her La Muerte, but a mother always knew who her baby girl was, apparently.

At some point she realized that Soldier 76 had settled onto the ground next to her and she didn’t take her eyes off the starry sky, but she passed a _marranito_ over and then tucked the note into her pocket.

“So I take it you’re leaving?” he asked.

She nodded, broke a piece off of her sweet and ate it. “Tomorrow morning.”

76 grunted in response and inspected the _marranito_. “Been meaning to ask. Why are these shaped like pigs?”

Alej stared down at her _marranito_ and broke out into a laugh. “I have no idea. I never asked, and I’m not sure my mamá knows either. They’ve just been shaped like pigs for as long as any of us can remember. Tourists call them ginger pigs, even though they aren’t gingerbread.”

They finished their _marranitos_ in silence and Alej brushed the crumbs off her jeans before she stood up. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve thought about that.” 76 grunted, winced in pain as he stood up, and then he put his mask back on. “Figure helping out might not be so bad.”

She stared up at him, eyes locked to his visor.

“It might be a while, but… Maybe I’ll get back into working with a team.”

Alejandra’s face broke into a smile and she offered her hand. “ _Hasta luego, viejo._ ”

76 grunted in response and clasped his hand to hers, shook it once, firm. “Later, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap folks. Is this the end for La Muerte? Don't know. I might write her again. We'll see.
> 
> Apologies if the Spanish isn't quite perfect, it's been a few years since I've used my Spanish with any regularity, and my once-fluency is now lost. Please feel free to point out mistakes if you are fluent.
> 
> Feel free to [say hi at my tumblr.](http://drunkenoracle.tumblr.com/)


	4. I'm Sorry to Start, But I Really Wanted Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the following two were originally published as a separate story from Bruises, titled Bodies. I've decided to just put everything together instead of having three separate stories in a series.
> 
> These three chapters focus on a different character, but still feature Alej heavily. After these chapters, Alej is once again the focal character.

Daniel stared at his computer screen, mouth turned down in a frown, brow furrowed. The Second Omnic Crisis wasn’t getting any better with the resurgence of old Overwatch agents. Omnics were living in fear the world over. Some factions were trying and failing to flee from those that still wanted to eradicate them, and other factions were retaliating. It was hard to read, but… Well, here he was anyway, reading the previous day’s newspaper and growing more and more callous to the world.

He flipped to that day’s headline instead, a tiny part of him hoping for something better. What he got was… phenomenal.

“Dorado Inspired?” He read the title aloud, zoomed in on the accompanying picture. He ended up with a shot of someone in a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket, holding a baseball bat tight with both hands. The helmet was all painted up in bright colors like one of those Mexican sugar skulls and the face of it was shaped like a skull itself to obscure most of the wearer’s face. Still, it didn’t hide their smug grin.

Curiosity piqued, he skimmed the article. There was very little information on the helmeted hero except that she was called La Muerte and the journalist suspected she was a Dorado native. They attributed her with taking down a gang that had been intending to sabotage the Lumérico plant there, and with inspiring the city to take its safety into its own hands.

Daniel felt himself frown again. If a girl from Dorado could stand up and help the heroes… couldn’t he? Hell, he’d helped them once before, and not that long ago, either. He could absolutely do it again.

But could he? Last time he’d gotten lucky. He’d managed to grab Doomfist’s gauntlet while that sniper - Widowmaker - was distracted. Without the gauntlet, could he have helped at all? He sighed and slumped onto his desk, buried his face in his crossed arms. When he looked up again, his eyes caught on the picture frame by his monitor, and he reached out to pull it toward him, traced his fingers over his little brother’s face in the picture where it gazed up at him full of awe and pride.

He sighed, pushed away from the desk in his office chair and spun to face the wall behind him, where a shelf of trophies was mounted over his bed. He hadn’t been interested in martial arts since he’d taken about a month of classes when he was a kid, but after the incident in the museum, he knew he needed to be able to protect his brother. He really _had_ gotten lucky when he grabbed Doomfist’s gauntlet, and it was safe to assume he wouldn’t have it the next time something like that happened. He wanted to know that he could handle a situation like that even unarmed.

A decision was made, then, and Daniel stood up from his chair, grabbed the hoodie off the foot of his bed, and left his bedroom. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d do it, but he was going to become a hero. If some Mexican girl could be a hero, he damn well could, too.

 

* * *

 

 

Daniel sat on the edge of a rooftop in King’s Row, one knee drawn up to his chest. He hadn’t been sure how to feel when his parents told him that they’d all be moving to London, but he’d been abnormally optimistic about it. Tracer called London home, after all; maybe he’d have another brush with greatness, with his hero.

So far, though? Nothing. She hadn’t even been sighted in London since the assassination of Mondatta.

His eyes trained on the very spot Mondatta had been standing when he’d fallen. Anti-Omnic sentiment was reaching a boiling point… again. Daniel mostly stayed out of it, withheld his opinion, kept his head down and his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure why some were so vocally for Omnic rights, but he knew he didn’t believe that all Omnics were set against humanity. Anti-Omnic rhetoric just sat wrong in his stomach, like lunch meat just past its expiration date.

Out of this corner of his eye, Daniel saw movement down below. He scrambled back up to his feet, dragged his hood back up so it shadowed his face, crouched low, watched. A brief glow of blue startled him, drew his attention. Was that Tracer? A pink flash not far from where he’d spotted the first confirmed that it was, in fact, not Tracer. He stepped back, turned, and found himself darting across rooftops on instinct until he could safely drop back to the ground again. His feet carried him quickly to where he had seen the flashes of color and he calmed his breathing, kept watch for more signs of movement as he moved into what he realized were subway maintenance tunnels. His stomach twisted into a knot. Omnics lived down here.

There was a faint glimmer of green glow up ahead and Daniel followed after it, listened as closely as he could. He heard the soft thrum of something sonic and the heavy footfalls of steel-toed boots, but no voices, no fighting. He wondered, idly, if this was a one-man attack.

The footfalls stopped short and Daniel caught up with the mysterious figure all at once, had just enough time to get a glimpse of a sugar skull glowing in the dark before he had to duck behind a pillar to stay out of view when the figure turned around.

 _La Muerte? What is **she** doing here?_ His thoughts raced.

“I know you’re out there.” Her accent was thick, but her voice was soft, just loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you should leave if you aren’t willing to show yourself.” There was an unspoken challenge in her words, a question of his courage, his bravery, his willingness to stand.

Daniel wasn’t sure he could face her challenge, but his brother’s face flashed in his mind, eyes full of awe and pride. “Damn it,” he growled, and he before he fully realized what he was doing he stepped out and his eyes locked onto a glowing skull. His heart leapt into his throat and he took one staggered step backward. If La Muerte was going for intimidation factor, it was certainly working.

Her eyes narrowed, distorting the skull as she scrutinized him. “What are you doing here?” The words were sharp, like they were intended to cut him open so she could inspect him from the inside out.

Daniel opened his mouth, ready to answer, then closed it firmly. He couldn’t just bend to her will. He was as good as her, better even. “You’re that Mexican girl, aren’t you?”

One of her eyebrows arched, and her look of scrutiny seemed to change ever so slightly. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, slower this time, harsher.

His resolve wavered and he took a deep breath to keep his voice even. “Watching, mostly.”

Her raised eyebrow fell back in level with its partner, but her eyes were still narrowed, her gaze still steely, still ice cold, as she watched him. “You’re not from here.”

“You aren’t either.”

Finally, her face softened and she broke out into a smile, a grinning, glowing skull in the dark. “Fair enough. Are you new at this, then?”

Daniel didn’t return her smile, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he considered her change in demeanor. She’d been so… stony just a moment ago, and now here she was, expression as bright as the colors in her skin. His mind caught back up to her question. “Don’t see how that matters. A few months ago you were a nobody in Dorado.” Maybe she’d decided he just wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

“Got me again.” She shrugged. “Look, I- oh, hold on.” La Muerte seemed to just listen for a moment, head turned to one side and hand held up, palm out, to Daniel, and then she pressed a finger to her ear. “ _Mierda... en serio?_ I’m on it, I’m on it.” Her hand fell away from her head and her eyes locked onto Daniel’s face again. “Look, authorities are patrolling. Either get out of her or come with me.” And then she was on her way again, the glowing sugar skull on the back of her jacket his only indicator of where she was in the darkness of London’s underbelly.

Daniel hesitated. He knew he should just go back home, but… before he knew it, he’d caught up to her and was following her winding path deeper, deeper, deeper still into the maintenance tunnels. La Muerte remained silent for a time, he noticed, probably just listening as she navigated the tunnels. Whoever she’d been talking to was probably feeding her instructions, he assumed.

Eventually, she slowed her pace and jerked her chin to one side to indicate that Daniel should walk beside her. When he did, she spoke in low tones. “The authorities here are ostensibly in support of the institution of protections for Omnics, but they’ve done nothing to quell anti-Omnic sentiment or provide safe housing for the Omnics here. They won’t even help them escape from these tunnels to one of the few Omnic sanctuaries like Shambali in Nepal.”

“And that’s why the Omnics are living in the maintenance tunnels?”

“Exactly, but here’s the thing… no person deserves to live their days underground, hiding from the rest of the world, in constant fear that someone’s going to send down another bomb that could end their existence or the existence of people like them.”

Daniel frowned. “But… Omnics aren’t people. They aren’t human.”

La Muerte stopped short and rounded on him, some sort of fury in her eyes, and Daniel recoiled, terror welling within him at the renewed sight of the glowing skull distorted with rage. She opened her mouth, tightened her fist around the bat in her hand - how had Daniel not noticed that before? - and closed her mouth again before she took a deep breath. She turned away and resumed her path deeper into the tunnels, dead silent for some time as Daniel followed after her, hesitant.

“You don’t understand, but I do. They deserve safe haven.” Her voice was low and even, her emotions back in check. “And we can help, but we don’t know how many there are. That’s why I’m here.”

Daniel just processed this for a moment. What was he missing in the discussion of Omnics that prevented him from understanding? He shook the thought away and kept his eyes trained on the glowing sugar skull in front of him, let his mind catch back up to what La Muerte had just said. “Who’s we?” He could practically hear her smirk.

“Stick around King’s Row long enough to help; maybe you’ll find out.”

“What, like, tonight?” He couldn’t see her face, but he had a distinct feeling she was amused by him right then.

“No, but sometime this week. Our resources are in the wrong places for us to move these souls tonight.”

Daniel followed her through a doorway and stopped short, in awe of the sea of softly glowing sensors in front of him. “That’s… a lot of Omnics.”

La Muerte ignored him, swung her bat up to rest on her shoulder, and stepped forward. “Who’s in charge here?” Her voice was loud enough to carry across the entire mass of Omnics and the crowd parted so that one in particular could step through.

“I have taken on the task of keeping us organized,” it said. “What is your purpose here?”

“I’m here to help, if you need it. I have friends around the world that can offer safe travel and places of peace and acceptance for your people if they so choose.” She held her free hand, her right hand, out to it, a soft smile on her face.

The Omnic nodded, considering her words, and then grasped her hand. “I speak for us all when I say that we would appreciate that. We have been unable to leave ourselves, met only with resistance when we attempt it, and we number fewer than we once did.”

La Muerte’s smile fell and her eyebrows turned up. She looked as though she could almost cry. Daniel noticed, for the first time, the dots in a triangle in the center of her forehead, an Omnic memorial in the ink in her skin. She was hesitating to speak.

Daniel’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he strode up to stand beside her. “How many are you now?” If she’d lost her voice, he would use his. He could feel La Muerte’s eyes on him, but he stared ahead at the Omnic leader.

The Omnic finally released La Muerte’s hand and turned more toward Daniel. “We are one hundred and sixty-three.”

La Muerte seemed to swallow a lump in her throat. “How many were you before the attacks started?” Her voice wavered.

“We did not have an accurate count before the first attack, as we were… unprepared for these events… After, though, we were three hundred and eighty-two.”

“Your number has been more than halved…” She took a deep, shuddering breath to steady herself. “I cannot help move you today. My friends need a couple days to prepare transportation, but I will do my best to ensure your continued safety until that time.”

Daniel watched her, studied the determination in her face. “I will, too.” He’d said the words without thinking, without hesitating, and they came from a place of competition, not of altruism, but… he’d stand by them all the same. If she could help, so could he.

 

* * *

 

 

Daniel woke much later than he’d have liked to the sound of his mother’s voice on the other side of his bedroom door.

“Are you okay, Danny?” She was worried. He would have been, too.

“Yeah, Ma… I just couldn’t seem to get to sleep last night. I’ll be out in a minute.” He pushed himself up to sitting as he spoke, forced himself to not just lie right back down and go back to sleep.

“Okay, dear.”

Daniel rubbed at his eyes and when he did he could see the sea of softly glowing sensors again, the brightly saturated colors of La Muerte’s sugar skull piercing through the blur of them all. Had it just been a dream? It felt like maybe it was, but, no… it couldn’t have been.

He hoped it wasn’t.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, haphazardly, went for his hoodie and ended up thinking better of it. Ultimately, he grabbed up his phone to check the time - two in the afternoon - and dragged himself into the living room.

His brother barely tore his eyes away from his video game screen when he heard footsteps and grinned up at his brother. “You missed lunch. There are leftovers in the microwave.”

“Thanks, Tobe.” Daniel smiled fondly at his little brother and meandered into the kitchen where his mother was just piling reheated pasta onto a plate for him. “Thanks, Ma.” He accepted the plate with a smile and made his way back into the living room, settled onto the couch next to his brother.

“Are you doing anything tonight, Danny?” Toby didn’t look away from his video game, focused as intently upon his boss fight as he was.

Daniel shrugged. “Probably gonna call it early, Tobe. I need to sleep.” Not exactly a lie, but not a truth, either. He was definitely going to head back to his bedroom early, but he was definitely not going to sleep, even if he needed it. No, he was going to pull on his jacket and go back to King’s Row.

Toby’s boss fight ended prematurely, the death screen flashing up for a moment before the game let him reload, and he looked over at his brother. “Are you alright?”

Forkful of food halfway to his mouth, Daniel met Toby’s gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine. Probably just being hit with the move all of a sudden, y’know, belatedly. You had a rough time settling in when we got her, remember?”

Toby’s mouth quirked and he stared at Daniel uncertainly, but finally relented and looked back to his game. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe it just didn’t have a chance to hit you because you were so busy helping the rest of us.”

Daniel nodded. “Something like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was a light mist in the evening when Daniel made his way back to the King’s Row rooftops, a chill clung in the air, and he was grateful suddenly for his jacket. He settled down onto the edge of the same roof as he’d been on the previous night and leaned back onto the palms of his hands, waited.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard the footfalls of steel-toed boots behind him, and he looked back to see La Muerte standing there, bat propped against her shoulder, collar popped up against the wind and rain. She was scowling.

“Not a fan of the weather?” Daniel asked. His lips quirked into a smile as he got back to his feet and turned to face her.

She didn’t respond, just grabbed the collar of his hoodie and dragged him down to the ground with her as she dropped to a crouch. Something flew past them and left a small crater in the roof of the building.

“Keep your head down.” Her voice was hushed and she started in the opposite direction the shot had come, hoping to put rooftops between them and their hidden assailant.

“What the hell is going on?” He moved frantically, slipped once or twice, but La Muerte managed to keep her footing and held tight to his arm so he couldn’t fall.

“We need to find a different path into the tunnels.”

“I don’t understa-”

“Just _move_ , white boy!” she hissed, her words final.


	5. I Breathe in the Light of Your Sound as it's Reflecting

“Tell me what’s going on!” Daniel snapped, but he found his feet finally and he kept pace with La Muerte as they dashed across rooftops until they eventually slid back down to ground level.

“There’s no time for that.” La Muerte shook her head, relinquished her hold on his arm, and pressed a finger to her ear. “I need backup. There’s a sniper on us.” She hesitated a moment, finger still to her ear. “...Is it Widowmaker?” Her arm dropped to her side again and she looked back to Daniel once more, jerked her head to indicate they should keep moving, and off she went.

Daniel chased after her, cursing under his breath. Why was he even listening to her? She wasn’t telling him anything! Except, she was. She asked whoever she was talking to if it was Widowmaker that was targeting them. She’d made sure he heard that. She didn’t want him to be out of the loop. He was torn between being not wanting her charity and being grateful that she was including him at all.

He settled for continued mild disdain that flared into anger when La Muerte grabbed his wrist again and pulled him through an open doorway to duck into a corner where they couldn’t be seen. She was still scowling as she caught her breath and listened intently, then pressed a finger to her ear again.

“So what you’re saying is that it _is_ Widowmaker. You’re telling me that Widowmaker herself was dispatched to stop me from even _working_ with these Omnics?” Her hand moved just slightly away from her head for a moment and then back on. “So are you giving me backup or not, Winston? I’m a sitting duck out here without my bike, and I’ve still got that extra we talked about.” Her arm dropped to her side again and she nodded, licked her lips, looked Daniel in the eye. “If you want to hide out here until it’s over, nobody will blame you.”

Daniel’s nostrils flared. “I’m not hiding.”

Her scowl finally softened and she even smiled, nodded. “Thought so. Come on then, we have a rendezvous point.” And she ducked to a crouch, stayed as low and out of sight as a woman with glowing tattoos could in the night.

“Rendezvous with who?” Daniel followed suit as best he could, though stealth wasn’t exactly a skill of his.

La Muerte was silent for a moment, maybe listening, maybe thinking, and then she spoke up. “One of my… friends.”

They sprinted through open areas, ducked around back alleys, kept to the shadows as much as they could, until La Muerte stopped short, still crouched, and held up one hand. Daniel eyed her warily for a moment until he heard it, a sort of familiar zipping sound. Couldn’t be, could it?

And then Tracer was in front of them, a grin on her face. “H’lo, loves. Cavalry’s here.” Her smile fell a moment as she caught on Daniel, scrutinized him. “Hang on a tic, aren’t you that kid what helped us with Doomfist’s gauntlet?”

Daniel nodded dumbly and after a moment of staring in awe he found his tongue again. “Name’s Daniel.”

“Your hero worship is showing, white boy.” La Muerte smirked and shouldered him. “What’s the plan, Tracer?”

“Right to business as always, Alej.” Tracer nodded once. “I’m going to go harass Widowmaker, I’ll be in your ear so you two can head down into the tunnels.”

Daniel frowned. “You’re going by yourself?”

“Safer that way. Don’t worry, love, I’ve got this.” She zipped away.

La Muerte, rolling her eyes, elbowed Daniel and he looked up at her. “Look,” she said, “Tracer knows what she’s doing. Let’s get going, alright?”

His brow furrowed, his lips pursed, but he nodded. “Lead the way.”

She just watched him for a moment, scrutinized him, as though she could see straight into his soul and for a moment that glowing skull seemed like it was going to burn itself into his vision and linger there for the rest of his life, and then all at once she seemed to find what she was looking for and she turned away and started down a side street again. He caught up with her and kept pace as they wound through back alley upon back alley upon back alley and eventually she slowed her pace, inspecting her surroundings. She looked like she was listening.

Daniel was about to speak when she held up her hand and then he heard it, too: heavy footsteps just around the corner. He silently pressed himself back into the shadows and he watched La Muerte grip her bat heavy between two hands and then he saw a shadow at the end of the alleyway they were in. Was it Reaper?

La Muerte took a shuddering breath and froze for a fleeting second. A look of fear passed her face that didn’t seem like it belonged there and then she was all rage. “ _Que quieres? Porqué estás aquí?_ ” She shouted the questions, unheeding of the otherwise silent night.

Reaper stood rooted to his spot for one second, two seconds, three, and then he surged forward, his body suddenly whispy tendrils of shadow and darkness as he moved toward and then through La Muerte. She snarled, a deep guttural sound in her throat, and whirled around, swung her bat up at him and activated the sonic boost in it just as he rematerialized. He was thrown back and, with a grunt, he landed hard against the wall behind him.

La Muerte took that short moment to press the device in her ear. “Reaper’s on us!” was all she got out before she had to start moving again, had to duck out of the way of a spread from Reaper’s shotguns. “ _Mierda!_ ” She spat the word and reached toward a canister at her waist then froze, eyes locked on Daniel. Her hand fell away from the canister and she shook her head, gripped her bat tight and threw herself forward again, getting as up close with Reaper as she could.

Daniel just watched as they danced in combat, La Muerte swinging hard with her bat to keep Reaper from being able to fire at her. Neither was getting anything clear on the other, but they were a sight to behold, even if Reaper’s movements did seem a little… stilted. He seemed a little distracted, and Daniel couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his head.

They both froze when the sound of Tracer zipping around echoed down the alleyway and then she was there and a spray from her pistols would have caught Reaper if he hadn’t become tendrils of shadow again.

“Widowmaker’s right behind me!” Tracer called out, and she zipped down the alleyway to stop beside Daniel before darting back forward, pulse pistols firing at Reaper’s form and still only hitting stone.

La Muerte snarled and swung her bat hard at the center of Reaper’s mass as he rematerialized, throwing him back against the wall again. “And me without my helmet.” Her bat started humming as its sonic boost continued to charge and she impatiently tapped her feet as she waited, watching, tensed to lunge forward if necessary, and lunge forward she did, just in time to miss being hit by a shot from Widowmaker. Tracer zipped off.

Daniel stood stock still, frozen by nerves as he watched La Muerte and Reaper circle each other still. Neither actually made to attack, but they were both looking for an opening. He tore his eyes away to stare up at Tracer where she zipped around, trying to get close to Widowmaker, and he looked back to La Muerte and Reaper when he heard her wind up and swing hard. He saw Reaper step back and then he saw La Muerte trigger the sonic boost on her bat and it threw Reaper back against the wall again.

La Muerte took a step back and looked for Widowmaker and Tracer to assess the situation and then she was suddenly on the ground, one of Reaper’s hands around her ankle. She managed to scrabble around just enough to swing her bat hard at him and then she was free, but she could spare no moments to help Tracer. “Do something, white boy!”

Daniel shook his head, felt something like fog clear out when he heard what she said. “Shit, right.” He darted down the alley to find a way up to where Widowmaker was, hoping against all hope that she wouldn’t notice him. Somehow, astoundingly, he succeeded, and he closed the distance to Widowmaker in just a few short seconds. Focused as she was on Tracer, it wasn’t hard to sneak up on her, and he managed, even he wasn’t sure how, to wrest her rifle from her grip and knock her to the ground. He hefted the rifle, hesitated, eyed her, and the world slowed to a still.

“Don’t you dare do it, white boy!”

La Muerte’s shout broke through the fog again and without skipping a beat he slammed the rifle down to break it over his knee, let the parts drop to his feet.

Widowmaker cursed under her breath and kicked out, knocked Daniel back hard onto his rear, and then she was up and gone. He couldn’t see it from where he was, but Daniel was sure Reaper had become tendrils of smoke and shadow again and slipped away into the night, too. He heard Tracer and La Muerte climbing up to the rooftop on which he sat and he tried to will himself back up onto his feet but it felt like electricity was coursing through his veins and he ultimately settled for just sitting there, staring off into space.

“You alright there, Danny?” Tracer was crouched by him. When he just nodded, she smiled. “You did good, y’know.”

La Muerte crouched on his other side and put a hand on his shoulder again. “Proud of you, white boy.”

Daniel just nodded again and he felt rather than saw La Muerte and Tracer rise on either side of him, and then La Muerte’s hand was in front of his face. He blinked at it before accepting the help to get back onto his feet.

“I get it, you’re still kinda buzzed from your first fight. Adrenaline’ll do that.” La Muerte’s voice was warm and the skull’s mouth was upturned in a smile when Daniel looked over, and then she broke out into a short laugh. “Although I admit I didn’t have a black eye at the end of my first fight. You’ll be feeling that for a while.”

Daniel frowned. “What?” He lifted one hand to feel tentatively at his cheekbone and sure enough the flesh around his eye was tender, stung at even light pressure. “Shit. I can’t go home with this.”

Understanding shone in La Muerte’s eyes. “You live with your family. They don’t know.” She squeezed his shoulder gently. “You need to tell them something.”

Daniel pulled out of her grip, his frown deepening. “Tell them what, that I’m helping an ex-Overwatch agent and some Mexican girl move Omnics? Why would they believe that?”

“Because you’re their son.” She snorted, shook her head, and the understanding in her eyes was replaced with irritation. “Look, white boy, I can’t make you do anything, but you’ll be better off being honest with them if you _do_ wanna keep helping us.”

“Whatever. Let’s just go talk to these robots.”

“Omnics,” she corrected, her voice sharp.

“Whatever! Why do you care so much what they’re called?!”

La Muerte’s face distorted into fury again and the glowing skull struck terror into Daniel once more, forced him to take a step back. “What makes you a person, white boy?” she asked, her words harsh, meant to bludgeon, and bludgeon they did.

Daniel tried to stammer an answer, but the words wouldn’t work.

“Maybe you should go home and think about that,” she spat, and she shouldered past him, rejoined Tracer who had been pacing back and forth behind them and talking on her earpiece. “We need to let the Omnics know what happened tonight.”

Daniel tried to turn and watch them go, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it and ultimately, still shaking with leftover adrenaline and the emotions now roiling around in his gut, he stared down at his feet.

 

* * *

 

 

Daniel trudged in the front door with full knowledge he was home too early for his parents to already be asleep, but what else could he do? He’d been dismissed, and he’d been criticized, and beyond that he knew that he’d have to explain the black eye tomorrow if he didn’t tonight. He couldn’t just hide it. He heard movement from the living room and sure enough his mother’s voice soon followed it.

“I thought you were going to be out late, Danny?” She walked into the entryway and her smile fell when she saw the still darkening bruise over his eye. “What happened?”

Daniel shook his head. “I… don’t want to talk about that right now. Later. I wanted to…” He sighed. “Is there ice cream?” All their serious conversations were had over a bowl of ice cream, and he was really hoping she’d catch what he meant.

She smiled sadly at him, then nodded toward the living room. “Come on, into the kitchen with you and I’ll make up a couple bowls and you can put a bag of peas on that bruise.”

He followed his mother through the living room, where his brother was definitely asleep on the couch with a video game paused and the controller still in his hand, and then into the kitchen, and he settled down to sit on a barstool at the island.

“Chocolate?”

“Chocolate,” Daniel confirmed, and when she opened the freezer and tossed a bag of peas at him he caught them and took in a sharp breath when he held the bag to his eye.

“You wanna tell me how you got that?”

He thought for a moment, stared down at the tile under his fingers. “Yeah, but… first I need to work something out.” When he looked up, he saw a bowl of ice cream, spoon sticking out of it, slide across the island to him, and then his mom put the tub away and settled across from him with her own bowl.

“Lay it on me,” she said, nodding to him.

He pursed his lips, mulled over the thoughts rolling in his head, and took a deep breath before he started. “What makes a person a person?”

“Asking the tough questions tonight, are we?” His mom considered, ate some ice cream while she thought over her answer. “There’s a lot that goes into this, y’know. What do you think it is that makes a person a person?”

Daniel scowled, ate some of his own ice cream. “It can’t be just flesh and blood,” he said, “because dogs aren’t people.” Another spoonful.

His mom nodded. “That’s a good start. So is it only if you’re human?”

“No, because Winston isn’t a human, but it’s safe to say he’s a person.”

“So what sets Winston and us apart from apes that _weren’t_ genetically modified?”

Daniel ate more ice cream as he thought. “It’s got something to do with the way we think, hasn’t it?”

She nodded. “You’re on the right track there, Danny. There’s no exact definition for personhood; the term has been changed many times over the past several centuries. I don’t know if there’s one exact right answer to your question, but it has to do with the way we think, yes. Our ability to rationalize, to make connections at the level we do, is what makes us people. Since Winston can make those same connections, it wouldn’t be wrong to call him a person. The same goes for, say… the Omnics who went to Shambali. They made a series of connections that lead them to the belief that they have souls, and so they decided to reflect on what that meant for them.”

Daniel stared down at his ice cream as he processed the words she’d said, then pushed the bowl away from him. “I… think I’m done. I need to think about this more.” He slid out of his chair, turned to leave the kitchen, then looked back. “Thanks, Ma.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

Daniel found himself sitting on the edge of that same rooftop overlooking King’s Row, one foot drawn up to his chest. He didn’t turn when he heard the sound of footfalls behind him or when the owner of that sound settled down next to him.

“We’re moving them out tomorrow night.”

It was La Muerte, of course. He knew if anyone were to show up, it would be her. He just nodded. “That’s good.”

She sighed and shifted slightly. “Look, I’m not going to apologize for what I said-”

“No, you shouldn’t have to. You were right. Omnics are people, too. If I say I want to fight for people, that means Omnics, too.” He looked up at the sky above him then, and then finally over at La Muerte. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Her mask of neutrality cracked into a smirk. “You are the first person I’ve taught a lesson that actually said I was right.” She laughed and leaned back onto her hands to keep her stability on the rooftop. “That is just astounding to me.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “I wouldn’t have if I’d known you were gonna laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve just been waiting for someone else to say that for a few months now, just…” She waved one hand toward him and caught her breath finally. “Look, I appreciate that you listened to what I said and actually thought about it.”

“...Why _is_ it so important to you that Omnics are people, anyway?” When she raised an eyebrow at him and her smile fell, he realized he worded it wrong. “I’m not… I’m not trying to dispute their personhood, I just want to know why it’s so important to you, _personally_?”

Her eyebrow fell back into place and La Muerte licked her lips, weighed her words. “You’ve probably read about civil rights movements, but you… you probably also don’t fully understand the weight of them. That’s an experience unique to people of color like myself.” She stopped again, swallowed the lump in her throat. “The rhetoric isn’t exactly the same, but white people would deny rights to… anyone who wasn’t white on the basis that we weren’t human. We were uncivilized. We were lesser because of the color of our skin. Did you know that the Aztecs didn’t come into real power in Mexico until after Oxford University was founded? We were savages. Uncivilized, just because our civilizations developed differently than yours.” A deep breath passed through her before she could carry on again. “And now they want to deny the Omnics personhood on the basis that they aren’t human.”

A long silence passed between them as Daniel processed what she had said, and finally he nodded. “I… I get it. I mean, I don’t… I don’t think I can really properly understand, but… I get why this is important to you. History shouldn’t repeat itself like this, but it is.”

La Muerte smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

Another stretch of silence, and then Daniel broke it again as he looked out over the city. “So I’ve got a question. Why do you keep calling me ‘white boy?’” He could hear her smirk when he said it and when she didn’t answer for a moment he looked over at her again.

“...’You’re that Mexican girl, aren’t you?’” She threw the first words he ever said to her back at him.

Understanding dawned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” she laughed.


	6. Maybe Now I'll Raise the Question: Will You be There 'Til the End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the previous two were originally published separately from the first three chapters as Bodies. I'm consolidating everything from a series into a single story instead, because i just like that better.

Daniel groggily fell out of bed with a loud thump that somehow didn’t rouse him enough for him to feel awake, but he certainly felt the soreness of over-exertion from the fight two nights prior. He managed, somehow, to drag himself out of his room and down the hall into the living room, and he was surprised to find the television off and he couch vacant.

“Your brother’s in town buying things for school.”

He looked over to see his dad sitting at the kitchen island and he nodded at him. “I see. Mom’s at the university?”

Daniel’s father just nodded as he sipped his coffee and looked over the papers in front of him. After a moment he set his coffee down and rose from his chair. “Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“...Thanks, pa.” Daniel hesitated only a moment before settling into one of the barstools at the island and he seemed to lose some time when he rested his head in his hands on the counter because when he looked up there was an egg sandwich sitting in front of him. He looked up to see his father there pouring more coffee into a mug, and all he could do was repeat, “thanks, pa.”

“Eat up,” his father said. He set the coffee pot back down to cool off and sat again, drank more coffee and glared down at the essays he was trying to grade. “You never told us how you got that black eye.”

Daniel didn’t answer for a moment, having already started on the sandwich. When he finally did speak, all he said at first was “...oh.” It took him a moment to sort his thoughts and he opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “What would you say… if I told you I had helped ex-Overwatch agents again?”

To his credit, Daniel’s father didn’t look up from the papers. “I would ask you to elaborate, but I would listen to you, because you’ve never given me reason to doubt you before.” He finally looked up.

Silence reigned for a few painfully long seconds and then Daniel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He breathed in, calmed himself, and met his father’s eye. “The past few nights I’ve been meeting with La Muerte and Tracer to help them plan and coordinate the movement of Omnic refugees from the maintenance tunnels beneath King’s Row to… anywhere safe. A couple nights ago we got in a fight with… Talon agents. Widowmaker and Reaper, actually. We, uh… we fought them off, but… well, Widowmaker got one good hit in at least.” He swallowed the lump in his throat he’d just noticed had formed.

His father considered, nodding, then looked back down at the essay. “So when are the Omnics being moved?”

“Tonight. I’m going to go help them again.”

“I had a feeling you might.” Daniel’s father drummed his fingers on the countertop and then looked back up at his son again. “I’m trusting you to know yourself and your limits, but I have to ask… are you planning on traveling with them after this?”

Daniel’s breath caught and his eyes fell away to stare at his sandwich. He did nothing but mull the idea over for what felt like forever and finally he licked his lips, but he still didn’t look up at his father. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that. I… I’ll come back before I do… if I decide to leave. If they even want me to come with them.”

“That’s all I needed to know. Finish your sandwich. You should probably do some stretching and at least go for a jog before you go out tonight. Maybe spend a little time at the gym.”

Daniel nodded and smiled softly. “Thanks, pa.”

 

* * *

 

 

The gym was quiet as Daniel stood by the door, chugging the last of his water. He tossed the bottle into the trash by the door before pushing his way out to the sidewalk out front. Traffic was dying down, the sun was setting, and general London nightlife was getting ready to happen. Everyone had either already eaten dinner or was settling down to it by then, and Daniel took a deep breath, steadied himself, as he remembered once more that while they were all living their lives, there was a group of Omnics hiding underground who wanted nothing more than to be able to do the same thing.

A blur of bright colors sped past him then, caught his attention, and he looked up, followed it, found himself staring at a glowing sugar skull disappearing into the distance. At the same time as he realized that it had been La Muerte, he realized he was smiling, and the smile deepened. She was heading toward King’s Row.

Without missing a beat, he threw on his hood and ducked around the side of the building into an alley. He was running then, fast and free, winding through the city until he could get to a fire escape and then he was on the rooftops, climbing, leaping, soaring. He was truly free when he ran above the city, and he could see for miles.

In what felt like no time at all he had reached King’s Row and he slowed his pace as he reached that one particular rooftop. The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon just as he settled on the edge of the rooftop and drew one knee up to his chest.

All at once he remembered his dad’s question, and his smile fell when he realized he did want to leave. London wasn’t his home, but New York had never been either. He’d had friends, but he’d never felt like it was… right. It didn’t ever fit him. Traveling fit him. Hiking, exploring, running, even fighting, they all fit him like a glove. Sitting in place wasn’t for him. ...but he wasn’t going to ask. No, if Tracer and La Muerte wanted him to help them elsewhere, they could ask him. He’d say yes, but he wasn’t going to ask them.

Something tickled at the back of his mind and told him that his resolve on that matter would probably break if pressed at all.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin and he leapt to his feet, turned to find La Muerte standing behind him.

She laughed when she saw his face. “Did I sneak up on you?”

“I was… thinking,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Her smile fell. “Oh, sorry. Is something wrong?”

Daniel shook his head. “No, I’m just. I talked to my dad today… about this.”

La Muerte didn’t say anything, just watched him closely, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“He said he trusts me.”

She smiled again, a soft smile this time. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

A silence passed between them, a comfortable one, like perhaps they’d been friends for years instead of a matter of days, and then Alej cleared her throat. “So, we actually have something for you.”

“We?”

“Me and Tracer and Winston. ...Mostly Winston. He made them.” She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and produced a pair of gloves, passed them to Daniel. “I noticed that you’re mostly a martial artist, and that’s great for self defense but not so great for… well, for what we do. These should give you a little more… flexibility, I guess.”

Daniel arched one eyebrow, inspected the gloves, turned them over in his hands. “What do they do exactly?”

“Winston said something about harnessing kinetic energy to create blasts or something? I don’t know. I know they don’t use sonic tech like my bat, but that’s all I really know for sure.” She shrugged. “You can ask Winston when we meet up with him if you want.”

He looked up at La Muerte, eyes almost wide. “We’re working with Winston tonight?”

Her mouth quirked into a wide smile and she almost laughed. “Tracer and Lúcio, too. Would have more, but everyone else has… other business.”

“...You’re all spread pretty thin aren’t you?”

La Muerte just shrugged. “Come on, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So I just, what, clap my hands together, and it’ll shove people back?”

Winston grunted, nodded. “That’s the idea. It won’t work all the time, though. You have to store up a certain amount of energy in order to trigger that effect. You’ll get a better feel for it as you use the gloves.”

Daniel had to admit that the gloves did feel a little different than just, say, hand wraps. His nerves tingled, like electricity was coursing through his veins, but it didn’t hurt. “And even if I can’t hit someone directly, striking something near them will still work?”

“It’s a sort of… shockwave, you’d probably call it. Those gloves are still a prototype, but they should give you a little more room to maneuver.”

“Huh.” Daniel looked down at the backs of his hands and then turned them so he could stare at the capacitors on his palms. “Cool.” He found himself inspecting the capacitors as they walked through the tunnels, losing himself in thought, and he stopped short when he heard La Muerte shout.

“Lúcio, what the hell!” She was on Lúcio’s shoulders, grabbing tight to his forehead with her free hand and waving her bat wildly in the other as she tried to maintain balance.

Lúcio was laughing. “I just figured since you had to leave your bike with the Omnics for now I’d give you a lift!”

“Ugh!” A smile was on her face though, and as soon as she had her balance again she started laughing. “Do you think we could fight like this, _güey_?”

“We could sure try.” He grinned and held tight to her knees as he skated circles around Winston, who was still moving like nothing strange had happened.

It hit Daniel all at once that they were close, this group. They’d spent so much time together over the past several months, or years like with Tracer and Winston, and they were… they were like a family, looking out for each other, keeping spirits up even when things were grim. He fought back a sense of sorrow that he was considering leaving _his_ family. It wasn’t a decision to make lightly, even if it meant he’d be part of _this_ family, instead.

He didn’t hear the sound of Tracer approaching, but he felt her hand on his shoulder and he looked over to see her smiling up at him.

“Nobody’s behind us. You alright there? We gotta catch up to the others.”

Daniel blinked twice, hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” Decisions were hard.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Mierda_ , are they on the transport yet?” La Muerte shouted it into her open commlink and even then Daniel couldn’t hear her over the roar of her motorcycle. She was doing her best to corral Reaper, lashing out at him with her bat every chance she had, but he had a handful of Talon agents with him, too, and they really weren’t doing her any favors.

“I’m comin' at you,” Lúcio offered.

“No! No, we really can’t risk that right now.” She swung out hard with her bat again, but one of the Talon agents managed to send her bike skidding out from under her.

Daniel peeled away from the agents he was focused on when he heard her cry out and he saw her rolling along the ground. With a snarl, he threw himself over to her and clapped his hands together, watched in awe as every agent around them, Reaper included, was knocked off their feet and thrown back, many against the tight walls of the alley.

La Muerte managed to scramble back onto her feet and grabbed her bat up again, snatched one of the canisters at her waist. She activated it and dropped it, darted for her bike once more with a death grip on Daniel’s wrist as brightly-colored smoke filled the alleyways.

He wasn’t sure how it all happened, but somehow he was on the motorcycle, clinging tight to La Muerte as they sped through the thick smoke, turning tight corners. He wasn’t sure how La Muerte could see through the smoke to navigate without running into anything. The buzz of adrenaline died down - or… was that ringing in his ears from the shockwave? He realized everything had gone kind of silent after he’d done that, and he heard La Muerte’s muffled cursing from inside her helmet, but their commlinks were silent.

“Did I do that?” he shouted over the engine.

La Muerte didn’t risk glancing over her shoulder. “You fried our commlinks and my bat, but that means you fried Talon’s tech, too.”

They both fell silent for the rest of the ride, kept up breakneck speeds until they were out of the smoke and back into the familiar mess of alleyways by the rendezvous point. When they stopped, Daniel slid off the bike jelly-legged and managed to hold himself up by grabbing a wall.

La Muerte popped the kickstand and pulled off her helmet, ran a hand through her hair to muss it back up where the helmet had plastered it flat to her scalp, sighed. “I hope we gave them enough time to get all the Omnics on the transport.”

“...Sorry.”

She snorted a laugh. “Sorry for breaking Talon’s gear again?” An amused smile split her face as she looked over at him. “You did fine, white boy. Reaper’s the only threat left in that alleyway, and…” Her words trailed off and her smile fell and she looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I think it’s safe to say he’s not going to bother us again tonight.”

Daniel watched her face closely, scrutinizing her neutral expression as though maybe he could read her mind. He couldn’t. That was her thing, not his. “What’s your deal with Reaper anyway? Or his deal with you?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, sharper than she maybe intended it to be, and she looked down and away from him. “No,” she repeated, softer this time.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but thought better of it and stayed silent. She wasn’t telling him everything, even he could see that, but he had no reason to push her for more information. He trusted that she would have told him if he needed to know.

They both fell silent and he leaned back against the wall and stared at his gloves. His nerves weren’t tingling anymore. With a grunt he pulled the gloves off and held them out to La Muerte. “I broke these, too. Tell Winston I’m sorry.”

She shook her head and pushed his hand back toward. “Tell him yourself. We’re staying here until the others get back. They’ll have figured out that our comms are down and will meet us here once the transport takes off.”

“Oh,” Daniel said. He had a feeling that would be all the conversation he would get out of La Muerte for now, and he was right.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You can come with us, if you want.”_

The sentence echoed in Daniel’s head as he dragged himself back through his front door and into the living room, collapsed onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. He had almost said yes then and there, almost just left without saying a word to his family, but… he couldn’t just do that.

“You okay there, Danny?”

Daniel blinked, looked up and saw his brother there on the other end of the couch. He mentally kicked himself for not even noticing that the television was on. “...Yeah… Yeah, I’m-” He stopped himself. “...No.”

Toby saved his game and quit out of it, shut the television off, shifted around on the couch so he was leaning back against the arm and staring straight at his brother. “What happened tonight? Talk to me.”

“Everything went… not perfectly, but it was smooth, I think. I…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, wet his lips, tried to talk again and found he didn’t have the words.

“...Are you going to leave?”

Suddenly, Daniel felt as though he couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “...I don’t know. But I have to decide.”

Toby nodded. “What’s keeping you from making a choice?”

“I… would have to pick one family. That family or this family. I can’t have both.”

“We’ll be proud of you no matter what you pick.” Toby reached out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re great.”

Daniel looked back up at his brother again and managed a smile. “...Thanks, Tobe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra lounged on the couch in the warehouse-turned-makeshift-watchpoint that had been set up in London for this operation, barely paying attention to the blob of black fur that was the cat on her stomach. She idly scratched behind his ears and stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep or really rest, though she knew she ought to. Footsteps entering the room escaped her notice until Lúcio leaned over the back of the couch, blocked her view of the ceiling.

“What’s with the long face, Alej?”

She sighed and pushed herself up to sitting, apologetically petting the cat when she dislodged him, and shifted so she sat cross-legged on the couch. “Just…”

“Worried?” Lúcio vaulted over the back of the couch and settled in next to her. “About Danny?”

“It’s his choice to make, y’know? I don’t want him to feel like he has to do one thing or the other, but we’re leaving tomorrow, so... “

“You’re worried you’re rushing his decision.”

She nodded, leaned against Lúcio, kept her eyes focused on the lone patch of white fur on the cat’s forehead. “I know I had no choice but to make sure he understood the time sensitivity of his decision. There’s no telling when we’ll be back in the area.”

“Could be next week, could be months from now.” Lúcio shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t on. “You did just fine, Alej. Nobody’s expecting you to be a paragon of leadership.”

“Nobody but me,” she grumbled.

They fell silent, and at some point Lúcio apparently drifted to sleep. The cat soon joined him, and hours passed until finally it was time to round everyone up and leave. Alej shook Lúcio awake and watched him groggily retreat back to the bunks, then scooped the cat up and took him to his carrier, scratched under his chin when he protested being woken. “I know, gordito, but it’s time to go.”

When she looked up, there were Tracer and Winston, heading toward the front door of the warehouse, and Lúcio was close behind them, both his bag and Alej’s in tow. He passed hers to her and clapped a hand on her shoulder before following Tracer and Winston out to their transport. She lingered in the makeshift Watchpoint, stared at the door, couldn’t decide whether she wanted Daniel to show up or not, and finally she exited, closed the door behind her, latched the padlock.

She tossed her bag into the transport vehicle haphazardly and passed the cat’s crate off to Lúcio to handle, then wheeled her motorcycle into the vehicle, secured it. Everything else already settled in, she closed the cargo bay door and found she was the last one to climb into the passenger bay.

A soft sound caught her attention and she froze, turned to look over her shoulder.

“Hey.” Daniel stood there, duffel bag over one shoulder. “Am I late?”


	7. Pan Dulce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally published separately from the previous chapters, but I feel better putting it all together, so that's what I'm doing. With this chapter the focus of Hero Worship is brought back to Alej.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please feel free to say hi @ [my tumblr!](http://drunkenoracle.tumblr.com/)

Alejandra relinquished her hold on Danny’s arm when he hit the mat and she looked down at him, lips pulled into a thin line, eyes severe. “You’re not paying attention.”

“I am paying so much attention, Alej, you don’t even know!”

“White boy, I need you to shut up and listen right now.” She scowled, offered her hand and pulled him back up onto his feet. “ _You_ are the one with actual martial training, Daniel. _You_ took classes and trained against masters. I’m just some kid who picked up a bat and learned how to swing it real hard. I should not be flooring you this easily or consistently while unarmed. Where’s your head at?”

“On my neck.”

Alejandra didn’t know what she was expecting. She just looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath, covered her face with her hands. “You’re deflecting. We’re done for today. Go figure yourself out, Daniel.” When she didn’t hear him walk away, her hands fell from her face and she looked at him again.

He was frowning at her, his brow furrowed. “Sorry, I know. I think I’m just… homesick. I just need time.”

She smiled sadly at him, nodded. “You know I understand, but I need you to be honest with me, not cover up with stupid jokes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He forced a smile, but it was clearly strained. “I’ll… try to be back in a good headspace tomorrow.”

“You do that, white boy.” She watched him go and then turned away, walked to the wall, turned back around and sat down, leaned back, closed her eyes. Dorado swam in her memory, waltzed through it, tugged at her heartstrings. The city still owned her; how could it not? It was her home. Of course she understood homesick. She was homesick, too.

“Alejandra.”

She opened her eyes, looked up to see Zenyatta hovering there just inside the doorway. “Did I doze off?”

“You did.” He moved closer to her. “Have you still not been sleeping well?”

“Guess not.” Alej shrugged and climbed back up onto her feet, scratched at the back of her head and then ran her fingers through the hair that was finally touching the base of her neck again. She was overdue for a haircut. “Not sure what’s got me.” Her eyes focused on his face again when she felt the cold metal of his hands enclose around one of hers.

“Come with me.”

His hands fell away again and he turned and left. For a moment, Alej didn’t move, just watched him go, and then she took a deep breath and followed him through the Watchpoint, up and up, until they exited onto the roof of the main building. The chill wind drew goosebumps up her arms and she just stared at the landscape around them, dimly lit as it was by the Watchpoint lights and the stars and half moon above them. She had to admit that it was peaceful, relaxing even.

“You have been working too hard.”

Alej looked over at Zenyatta again, then down at the rooftop beneath her feet and back up at him, shrugged weakly. “Maybe I have.”

He moved to her and then let his feet touch the ground, something he almost never did, set one hand on her shoulder. “You are supposed to be taking a break, Alejandra.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and let herself lean in against him. “I’m just not great at that right now, I think. Too much on my mind.”

Zenyatta shifted so he stood closer to her and wrapped his arm around both her shoulders. “You know I am always happy to listen to you.”

A sigh passed her lips and she looked up into the sky, the sheer stereotypical scene they were in at the moment pricking at the back of her mind even as she spoke. “I… really can’t talk about it. It involves people other than me.”

“And you do not betray the trust others place in you.”

“That’d be a betrayal of not only their confidence, but of who I am.” Alej closed her eyes and rested her head against Zenyatta’s shoulder. “I just have to wait right now.” Time passed, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps an hour, and when Alej opened her eyes again it was to the sound of the roof access hatch opening. She saw Lúcio peek out of it.

“Hey, hey, hey, guys. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“We were just getting some air. What’s up?”

“Reinhardt made some cakes. Bene-something or other? He’s _really_ excited to hear what you think of them.”

Alejandra’s lips split into a grin and she pulled away from Zenyatta, moved back toward the hatch. “ _Bienenstich?_ He’s been talking about making that since the first time he tried one of my _marranitos_. It’s been months!”

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra stared into the space in front of her, entirely unfocused, as she sat at the table in the Watchpoint’s kitchen. At some point, she became keenly aware that not only had the cat decided to make himself comfortable directly on her plate - after eating her eggs of course - but there was someone leaning over her, waving their hand in her face. She blinked a few times, tried to focus, followed the hand to it’s owner to find Reinhardt beaming down at her.

“Good morning, my little friend!” He was as boisterous as ever. “I see you have already eaten.”

Alej blinked one more time, trying to clear the brainfog that had settled in while she was idly pushing her breakfast around, and she looked down at the cat on her plate. “...Actually I think this little _gordito_ did while I was still trying to wake up.”

Reinhardt’s booming laughter filled the kitchen, and the cat jumped to its feet and scrambled down off the table and out of the room. “You should drink coffee in the morning! One cup of black will wake you right up!”

“Or I could stick to a hearty breakfast and not have to get used to that awful, bitter drink.” She eyed Reinhardt and rose from her seat, took her dishes to the sink.

Reinhardt slapped one hand flat to his chest. “Why, Alejandra, that hurts.” He laughed anyway, and Alej could see him pull an egg carton out of the fridge. “I’ll make something for you.”

She looked up at him just as she’d started to clean her plate and she shook her head. “You don’t need to!”

“I was going to make something for myself anyway, little friend. Let me replace the breakfast your cat stole.”

“He’s not my cat,” Alej said, but she snorted soft laughter and went back to cleaning her dishes. “Thank you, though.”

Reinhardt busied himself with pulling a bowl from the counter, breaking eggs into it, mixing in some spices. He passed the egg carton over to Alej and set a frying pan to warming on the stove. “I still don’t understand about the cat, you know. If he is not your cat, why does he follow you from place to place?”

Alejandra shrugged and put the eggs away. “I couldn’t tell you, really. He’s his own cat. Does what he wants. Who am I to stop him?”

“But you are the voice of reason for everyone else.”

“For Danny, mostly.”

“Yes! You do not let him simply do what he wants, but you let the cat?” Reinhardt considered the pan in front of him and turned to Alej again. “Would you get me the _chorizo?_ ”

She immediately brightened up. “We have _chorizo?_ I didn’t see it earlier!”

“I found it while I was in Texas last week. It’s hidden in the back of the vegetable crisper. I thought you might want something that tastes like home.”

Alej felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she fought them back as she retrieved the chorizo. “Thank you,” she choked out. “That’s really kind.” She pulled out bell peppers too and held them up. “Yes or no?”

“Yes. Would you mind chopping them?”

“I can do that.” She passed the package of _chorizo_ over and closed the fridge and the pair fell into a comfortable silence as they worked.

It wasn’t until everything was in the frying pan and the eggs were nearing fluffy instead of liquid that Reinhardt spoke again. “It’s hard to leave home. You’ve done well, Alejandra.”

“It hurts sometimes but… it’s worth it if it means I get to help.”

Reinhardt smiled and reached over, clapped Alej on the back as gently as he could. “I’m sure your mother is very proud of you. We are all proud of you here, too.”

The tears threatened again.

 

* * *

 

 

Danny landed on the mat for the fifth time and Alej just let herself fall to sitting next to him. “You’re still not all here, white boy.” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Whatever this is, it’s eating at you.”

He shifted so he was sitting on the mat instead of lying facedown on it and he sighed before he looked up at Alej. “You’re right. I’m letting this get the best of me, and I shouldn’t.”

“What are you doing to cope with it?”

Daniel blinked once, twice, and shook his head slightly. “I… I guess I’m not. I’m just kind of… trying to press it down.”

“That’s not healthy.” Alej smiled sadly at him. “You need to let it out somehow. Write it out, work it out in the training room, run it out on the track… whatever works best. Even talk it out. If that’d help you, I’m happy to talk it out with you.”

He looked down at the mat and started nodding even before he looked back up at Alej. “Yeah, I… That would probably help a lot, actually. Um. Do we have ice cream?”

The concern in Alej’s brow gave way to bemusement. “Ice cream?”

“It’s… sorry it’s just something my family’s always done. We talk things out over ice cream. Can we do that?”

In one fluid motion Alej rose to her feet and held her hand out to Daniel. “Of course we can.” She helped him back up as she spoke. “I think there’s a tub or two hiding out in the freezer.”

They left the gym and nearly tripped over the cat, paused for a moment so Alej could scoop the bundle of fur into her arms, and then they resumed their trip to the kitchen.

“Oh! You know I think the _pan dulce_ should be cooled off enough to eat by now, too.”

“You made sweets?”

Alej snorted. “You’re thinking of cupcakes maybe. _Conchas_ aren’t that sugary or moist.”

“But doesn’t _dulce_ mean sweet? Am I translating that right?” Danny was right and truly baffled.

“It does, but our idea of sweet and your idea of sweet are different. _Pan dulce_ is drier and flakier. Some are sweeter than others, but most have very little sweet to them at all.”

“Then why call them sweet in the first place?”

She just shrugged. “Look, do you want _pan dulce_ or not?”

“...I’ll try it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“...So you aren’t sure if you made the right choice?” Alej tore off a piece of fresh _sopapilla_ and dipped it in honey.

Danny scooped ice cream into the last of one of his _sopapillas_ and nodded. “Yeah, it’s… I’m just worried that I should have stayed and… I don’t know, thought about it more. I know you guys have no idea when you’ll need to be back in London, but… I don’t know I’m just…”

“Uneasy?”

“Yeah.”

Alej let out a soft sad laugh. “I know what you mean. I was honestly really nervous about that after I finally left Dorado. Like, _really_ left Dorado. Still am a little. It, uh. I don’t know if it goes away, but it gets easier.” She finally ate the piece of _sopapilla_ she’d torn off. “It still hurts to think about home, but it’s also really comforting to… experience home.”

“That’s why you make _pan dulce?_ ”

“My family does run a _panaderia_.”

“Fair.” Danny finished his _sopapilla_. “Hey… Thanks, Alej. For the sweets and the talk. I… I needed it.”

“Anytime, white boy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra stared up at the ceiling of her bunk and listened to the cat purring away where he was curled up on her chest. She would be reading if she could, but, alas, the cat was in the way and she was certainly not going to be moving him anytime soon. When she heard the door to the room slide open she looked over to see Lúcio walk in, small plate of _sopapillas_ in hand.

“Hey, hey, hey, Alej, these are great!” He beamed up at her and settled into the chair across the room to eat the treats.

“Thanks, _güey_.” She managed a smile. “I’m glad everyone likes them.”

“Yo, I’m not against it or anything, but you _have_ been doing a lot of baking lately.” Lúcio set the plate down on the desk and rose from the chair to walk over and lean against the sideboard of Alej’s bunk. “Do you like, stress-bake or what? Is everything okay?”

Alej stifled a snort of a laugh, but the cat still stirred and meowed a soft protest before settling to sleep again. “Ha, stress-bake… I guess I do. I’m just missing home. The _pan dulce_ helps a little.”

“It tastes like home?”

“It tastes like home.”

Lúcio fell silent for a few moments, and then he broke into a grin. “Hey, you know what we should do?”

“What’s that?”

“We should get everyone together for _fútbol_.”

Another stifled snort of laughter left Alej and this time the cat that had been _trying_ to sleep on her chest rose to his feet and leapt down to the floor. “Sure, why not. Kicking a ball around will be almost as much fun as arguing with McCree and Danny about what it’s called.”

“Well, come on!” Lúcio pushed away from the bed and his grin didn’t falter.

Alej laughed and shifted toward the edge. “What, now? It’s not the middle of the night or anything.”

“Best time for it, Alej! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Even if nobody else joins us, it’ll still be fun!”

She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling even as her feet touched the floor and she followed Lúcio through the Watchpoint, gathering no small crowd as they went.

 

* * *

 

 

Alejandra nearly fell out of her bunk when she heard the alarms, managed to catch herself and let herself down onto the floor feet first. Quick as she could she pulled on her jeans and boots and she knelt by Lúcio’s bunk, shook him awake. He mumbled something incoherent and then tried again, managing something that sounded vaguely like “what’s going on?”

“Don’t you hear the alarm? Come on, we need to be ready for anything.” Then she rose from the floor and grabbed up her leather jacket, pulling it on as she left the room and started down the hallway at a run. She slipped through the door into Winston’s lab and grabbed up her bat. It’d been sitting in his to-do pile for two days, waiting for an upgrade, but she needed it on her _now_. A moment later she was back in the hallway making her way toward what she hoped was where anyone else would be.

The alarm suddenly cut out and she stopped short, confused, cautious. She heard footsteps behind and turned to see Hanzo calmly walking up to her.

“If this was someone breaking in, they’d have had to cut the power in order to kill the alarm.” It was an unnecessary statement, but Alej felt she had to make it.

Hanzo just nodded, and the pair of them started toward the common area of the base, weapons still held ready, if low. They arrived to find most everyone else gathered, the room bristling with energy. She exchanged a look with Hanzo and he just nodded toward the front door, though they both knew she couldn’t see past everyone else. She rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh and started gently nudging the people in her way until she could finally see exactly what had everyone’s attention.

Her eyes met Jack Morrison’s. For a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and then she swallowed back the knot in her throat and shook her head made herself take in the full situation. He was being held up by someone. Was that Ana Amari?

The whole room burst into chaotic noise at once and everyone who had history with them surged toward the new arrivals, but Alej stood rooted to the spot, watched as Reinhardt tearfully swept both Ana and Jack up into his arms. She watched as Fareeha sobbed into her mother’s shoulder as soon as she was on her own feet again. She watched as everyone in the original Overwatch clapped them both on the back and welcomed their return, jokingly expressing anger that they’d been gone all those years.

Her eyes caught on Jack’s face again and she felt something bubble within her and she scowled, set her feet. She hadn’t had so much as a word from him for weeks, months, and he just showed up all of a sudden looking like he’d run off to try and take down all of Talon by himself? She looked down at the ground and made herself turn away. Saying anything would just cause a scene, likely. It wasn’t like anyone but she and Jack knew that she knew him at all. Instead she left the room, barely registering that she’d passed by Lúcio as she went, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

She started the oven pre-heating and pulled out cookie sheets and mixing bowls and a whisk and a wooden spoon. Focusing entirely on prepping, she didn’t hear the soft pad of paws on tile as the cat entered the kitchen, or the sound of him jumping onto the table. She didn’t hear footsteps walk past or pause at the doorway or carry into the room. All she heard was the crack of eggs and the shift of flour and the slow gloop of molasses. When the dough became too thick for her whisk, she switched to the wooden spoon, and when that wasn’t enough, she cleaned the counter and floured it and dumped the dough onto it. She washed her hands quickly and dried them and then started kneading the dough.

At some point she stopped and she just stared down at the lump of dough. Soldier 76 - Jack Morrison - was in the Watchpoint. He wasn’t hiding anymore, not from them and not from who he was under the mask. Why was it, then, that she was hurting now?

“You miss Dorado.”

Alej blinked away tears and started flattening the _marranito_ dough. She knew Jack was standing in the kitchen, watching her, and she mulled over her response and took a deep breath. “Welcome back, _viejo_.” She turned and looked up at him. “ _Marranitos_ will be ready soon.”


	8. Burritos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH look at that I'm finally updating.
> 
> Keep me accountable. Make me keep updating. Bug me @ [my tumblr.](http://drunkenoracle.tumblr.com)

Alej straightened up in front of the oven and started the timer on the stovetop before turning to face the small crowd that had gathered in the kitchen while she was baking. She shrugged helplessly at them. “I’m not sure what you were all expecting wandering in here while I was still working. These need time to bake, and then time to cool.”

Nobody moved or spoke for a few moments, and the tension in the room became palpable. Alej fidgeted.

Finally, Zenyatta slowly shook his head. “That is not why we are here, Alejandra.”

“You gotta tell us about Soldier 76,” Danny added.

Lúcio nodded in agreement, but corrected Danny. “Jack Morrison.”

Alej sighed and side-stepped away from the oven before sagging back against the counter. “Not a lot to tell you haven’t heard yet. He saved me when I was a kid and I found him again like seven months ago and now here I am.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side for a moment. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

“There’s things you’re not telling us, Alej.”

Alejandra stifled snorted laughter and nodded toward Lúcio. “You live with a guy for a couple months and he thinks he knows you.” She took a deep breath, though, and felt her thoughts rolling around in her head. “He’s the reason I decided to become a hero. Him saving me was kind of a… turning point? ...I don’t remember the word in English, but it was like… important.”

“Formative,” Zenyatta offered.

“Yes, that. Thank you.”

Danny opened his mouth to speak, then licked his lips and thought over his words for a moment. “You idolized him.”

“Sort of.” She lifted one hand and waved it side to side. “Not quite? I knew he was kind of an asshole even then. He saved me, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. When I went looking for him, it was to help me, sure, but… I also had it in my head to help him.”

“Did you?”

“That’s not my story to tell.”

Lúcio crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “So he helped you with Los Muertos then?”

“More like I helped him. I still had no idea what I was doing. I’m not so sure I do even now.” Alej sighed again. “I might know Dorado better, but… Morrison knows heroism better, even if he’d deny it to his dying day.”

“You’re damn right I will.”

Everyone’s head snapped toward the voice and there stood Jack Morrison, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Thought you were a soldier, not a spy, _viejo_.”

Jack chuckled. “I’m what I need to be. Now, if you’re all done trying to drag a story out of Alej, I need to borrow her for a second.”

She scowled, but straightened up and walked around the kitchen table to the doorway, paused to look back at Zenyatta. “They still need about 20 minutes.”

“I understand.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alej leaned back against the control room wall, her mind buzzing as the others present prattled endlessly on about reports around the world. Nothing they had said for the first half hour had caught her attention nor seemed to be the reason for her presence at the meeting in the first place, and now she simply wondered if she hadn’t better leave. Perhaps they’d forgotten about her.

“What do you think, Alej?”

She shook her head and looked up to see everyone’s eyes on her. The full weight of the attention of every senior member of Overwatch, or whatever Overwatch had become now, bore down upon her, and she hadn’t been listening. She opened her mouth, licked her lips, and her mind worked at a million miles an hour. “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to repeat.”

Mercy pursed her lips, but her brow furrowed in concern, not frustration. “There have been reports of a hacker in league with Talon, someone capable of taking down even the most secure systems. Jack believes they may have been with Los Muertos, originally.”

So this was why they’d wanted her there. She took a deep breath, pushed herself off the wall, stepped forward. “He’s right. I know her. Knew her.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about her?” Ana prompted, ever encouraging.

Alej shook her head. “Not really. She lost her home and her family in the Omnic Crisis, never found a real place except with Los Muertos, and she’d sell them out in a heartbeat if it meant a better life. The only thing there is to say about her is that she has nothing to lose.”

“So she’s dangerous,” Reinhardt offered.

“Almost certainly.” There was more. Alej could have said more, but something held her back. It was probably stupid, hiding what little other information she had, but she wasn’t going to give it up without verifying it herself. Her eyes fell to the ground, then back up to everyone else in the room. “Was there anything else?”

Winston shook his head. “We haven’t located this hacker, so we don’t even have a trail to pick up yet. We’d hoped you might have an idea of where they’d be, but if they have no real loyalty to Los Muertos…”

“They won’t be in Dorado unless they have a job there, and that’s not likely to happen until they think we’re not watching LumériCo. Since 76- Morrison and I stopped the last attack before it even started, they’ll probably want to regroup before making another attempt on my hometown.”

“That settles it then.” Mercy sighed. “We’ll have to shelf this for now, but we should all keep an ear to the ground for any hint of this hacker. I’m calling this meeting to a close.”

Alej’s eyes fell to the ground again and she slipped out of the room quietly and disappeared down the hall to the bunks. She stepped into her room and hesitated only a second when she saw Lúcio sitting at his desk, headphones on, head bopping to the song he was working on. She smiled softly and strode across the room to her closet to start filling her duffel bag. It wasn’t until she zipped the duffel bag and turned around that she realized Lúcio had stopped working and was watching her.

“Going somewhere?”

“Just for a little bit. Going to follow a lead.”

“By yourself?” He was concerned, like any good friend.

“I’ll be fine, _hermano_. It’s just a paper trail.” She forced a confident grin and dropped the bag, dug into the closet for her jacket. “ _No te preocupes_.”

“If you’re sure, Alej.”

“Never been more.” She pulled her jacket on, dug her keys out of it, and pulled her bag up over her shoulder. “ _Hasta luego_.” And then she was out the door. In fact, she made it almost to the garage without encountering another soul, but then there was Zenyatta, almost as if he was waiting for her.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question or accusation, but simply an observation, the kind that Zenyatta was infuriatingly good at making.

“For a little while.” She didn’t force a smile. Zenyatta’s processors could catch the slight difference between her forced smile and her real smile. “You wanna close the garage door behind me?” Without waiting for an answer, Alej stepped through the doorway and elbowed the button to open the garage door. The warm, orange-red light of the setting sun filtered into the garage, and Alej slowly made her way through the other vehicles to her motorcycle. Her hands trailed over her motorcycle before she stuffed her duffel bag in the small trailer hitched at the back.

For a moment, she didn’t move. She just took a few deep breaths, thinking hard, before finally she turned to look at Zenyatta, who simply stood in the doorway watching her. She smiled, a real one this time. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

She hadn’t been on the road two hours when her commlink beeped in her ear and Jack’s voice crackled through.

“You didn’t tell us you were leaving.”

For a moment, Alej considered saying nothing. She pushed her bike a little faster on the stretch of empty highway and let out one deep sigh, knowing full well that Jack could hear her on the open line. “Didn’t know I had to.”

He was probably scowling at the wall back at the Watchpoint. “You don’t, but it would have been nice to know all the same. Lúcio didn’t exactly come running to let us know you were leaving. Didn’t know until I went looking to ask you something.”

“Well you’re talking to me now, aren’t you, _viejo_?” She slowed as she came to a junction, took the ramp to head south on the highway.

“Yeah, but… Well, look, it doesn’t matter anyway I guess. Looks like we had the same idea.”

“Get the native Central Mexican out where she’s going to be able to inconspicuously keep an eye out for Talon’s star hacker?”

“Pretty much, even if I’d rather you hadn’t gone alone.”

She scoffed. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.” There wasn’t a hint of defensiveness in his tone. Instead, it was concern. “Look, kid… You’re smart. You’ll figure this out yourself.”

“ _Claro_.”

“There’s one more thing, though.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“You should have told Fairweather.”

Alej scowled. “ _Mierda_. You’re right. Danny’s still looking for a place to fit in and I just up and left. I should head back.”

Jack’s head shaking was almost audible. “No, don’t turn around. We need you in Mexico to keep an ear to the ground. I’ll talk to Fairweather.”

“Falling right back into leading, aren’t you, Commander?” She snorted a soft laugh and her heart lightened a little when Morrison chuckled.

“Maybe so. Travel safe, kid.”

“Always do, _viejo_.”

The commlink beeped twice and the line was dead. Alej sped off into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Alej stood on the sidewalk in front of a motel in Alice, Texas, tacos in hand, scowling up at the window of her room where none other than one Jesse McCree was leaning out of it, smoking his damned cigar like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Well, she was gonna give him one. After she ate her tacos.

He waved down at her.

Stubbornly, she took a bite and continued glaring up at him for a good five seconds before she started up the stairs and walked through the open door into the room. “Morrison sent you.”

McCree shrugged. “Not really.”

“You talked to someone who knew.”

He hummed thoughtfully and scratched up under his hat for effect. “Seems I might have.”

“It was Hanzo.” Her voice was flat; she was entirely unamused.

“He’s watching your devil cat for you, by the by. Did you bring me any tacos?”

Alej rolled her eyes and kicked the door shut behind her before settling in at the table in the corner of the room. “That would require you having warned me beforehand that you were going to be harassing me, Jesse. You know, like a decent human being.”

“That cuts deep, _hermanita_. Gets me right in the heart.”

“You have one of those?”

“Now, you know full well I do.” McCree stubbed his cigar out on the windowsill and tossed the butt out over the walkway. “Business, right? I figure you’re heading into Mexico to look for this cyber specialist. Thought you might want a sharpshooter in your pocket as backup.”

“Right, yeah.” Alej nodded and sucked on her teeth. “Thanks for the offer, Jesse, _pero estoy bien_.”

Jesse scoffed. “And I’m Clint Eastwood.”

“I thought that was the whole point of your getup. This isn’t all an elaborate LARP to you?”

“You’ve got no room to talk on getups, little missy. What do you suppose the fine folk of this town think of your tattoos?”

Alej dumped the wrappers from her tacos in the trash can and sat on the bed against the far wall. “I don’t really care, Jesse. They know I’m La Muerte. That works for me.” She unlaced her boots, kicked them off. “The headstrong dumbasses will come out of the woodworks to try and prove something, they’ll get their asses kicked, and I’ll trace them back to the ones who tried to play it smart and lay low until the storm passed.”

“And they’ll get _their_ asses kicked?”

“Pretty much the plan, yeah.”

McCree finally turned away from the window and settled himself on the bed nearest it so he faced Alej. “Now who’s headstrong?”

“Hey, I’m not out looking for a fight.”

All he offered in response was a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

“Not any more actively than usual, anyway.” She pulled off her gloves and jacket and let them rest on the boots beside the bed before kicking herself up onto it properly and leaning back against the pillows. “Fine. I’ll admit that maybe having a second person would be okay, and if it was going to be anyone, you’re the best choice.”

“Aw, you like me! I’m gonna tell everyone.”

“You speak Spanish,” Alej clarified, “and you’re brown. You won’t stick out like a sore thumb in Dorado, especially with your Clint Eastwood costume.”

“I like my story better.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alej woke abruptly at three in the morning, heart racing. She shifted and sat up in the hotel bed, pulled her knees to her chest, gulped deep breaths as she stared into the darkness of the room. After a moment she swallowed down the lump in her throat and tried to sort out the tangled fuzz in her head. She couldn’t remember the dream, or more accurately the nightmare, but from the adrenaline buzzing in her veins it had to have been rough.

At some point she noticed a wetness on her cheeks and realized that, inexplicably, she’d started crying. Her breathing had not evened out, her pulse was still racing, and maybe she was beginning to panic, even as she denied it in her own mind. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest as the gulped breaths turned to gasps for air and racking sobs, and she dug her fingers into her skin, almost hoping that the sensation of acute pain might lessen this seemingly unexplained fear of… of… She didn’t even know why she was afraid.

She didn’t even notice she had been alone until the door swung open, and she barely even noticed that. A paper bag of probably food hitting the ground only sort of registered in her mind, and the footsteps coming towards her most certainly didn’t. No, the only thing she really picked up on in those few seconds after the door opened was McCree’s voice as he rushed over and threw his arms around her.

“Woah, woah, little missy, I’m here, don’t worry.” His drawl was oddly soothing, though his repetitive words soon got lost.

It took longer than Alej would have liked but eventually McCree talked her down into deep breaths and she was calm again, if immeasurably more tired than she had been before. Gently, she pulled out of McCree’s arms and turned to face him.

“You alright now, _hermanita_?” he asked, his voice as full of concern as his eyes.

Alej nodded, sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Yeah… Yeah I think I’m good now.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before McCree, hesitant, rose from her bed and went back to the door to close it and retrieve his bag of food. “I picked up some burritos we could warm up in the morning, but maybe you need one now. I always liked a good meal after, anyway.”

“That… sounds really nice.” She sniffed again and brushed her hair back out of her face as much as she could. It was getting too long again, she noticed, not even entirely sure why she was noticing that now of all times. Then what McCree said finally fully sunk in and she looked over at him where he had sat on his bed. “You’ve felt like that before?”

He nodded. “I have. Still do sometimes, even if it ain’t as frequent as it used to be. Didn’t really know how to get through it properly until I joined Overwatch. I had, uh…” He hesitated. “I had somebody lookin’ out for me who had anxiety, too. I learned how to… what’d he call it… breathe consciously. It’s what helps me when something puts me on edge again.”

Alej looked down at the floor and then back up when a paper-wrapped burrito entered her field of vision. She accepted it, still shaky, and slowly unwrapped it.

“Now, let me be clear here. I ain’t saying you necessarily have anxiety. I ain’t equipped to make that diagnosis. What I _am_ saying is that looked a damn lot like an anxiety attack, and that you should learn how to deal with them if it happens again and someone ain’t there who can help you.” He shook his own still-wrapped burrito at Alej as he said this, which did mildly undercut his serious tone.

She stifled a laugh before biting into her burrito and a feeling of familiarity and warmth washed over her. For just a moment she felt like she was walking through the town square in Dorado during a festival, burrito in hand, sun shining down, music blaring loudly at her from all sides. She closed her eyes and held onto that sensation for as long as she could before she opened them again to the reality of her and McCree sitting in a motel eating 24-hour taco shop burritos in Texas.

They finished their burritos in silence and Alej gathered their trash and dropped it into the room’s too-small trash can before settling back into her bed again. She looked over to McCree just as he turned out the lights once more. “Hey, Jesse.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”


End file.
